30 Days of Summer
by quokka
Summary: Snippets based on a self-appointed 30 day challenge, focused on summer. One-shots, Tony and Ziva, but not always Tiva.
1. Ultimate American Summertime Experience

Tony DiNozzo spewing hyperbole while trying to ask Ziva out on a date and pretending it's not a date, even though it is clear to everyone in the bullpen that it is, indeed, a date. Set shortly after Ziva became an American citizen.

Day 1 of 30 days of summer (yes, we're doing that again, what, you think I learn from my mistakes, bwahaha). I'm picking random summer related prompts this time, today's was "drive-in movie theater"

Thanks for reading, and a great, big thank you to everyone who has left feedback on my fics and that I haven't been able to thank personally.

* * *

"Aah, nothing like summer in America," Tony said as he stood up, dumped his bag on his desk, and started packing.

Ziva looked up. "Because of all the scantily clad women?"

He perked up, elated at the thought, yet slightly confused as to why that aspect of summer seemed to be passing him by.

"You know, the older you get, the creepier the leering gets," McGee chimed in.

Tony glared at him. Who did Tim think he was, Senior? He had barely done any leering or ogling lately. He frowned, shook his head slightly and focused on Ziva instead.

"Miss Ziva David, now that you're a red, white and true-blue US citizen, tell me, what is the epitome of being American."

"Hogging out on Thanksgiving Day?" she said flatly, while logging off her computer and gathering her things.

"That's pigging out, and, while I can understand your confusion after last year's Thanksgiving dinner at Ducky's." He walked up to her desk, and with a grand gesture of his hands, said, "It's the drive-in movie theater."

Ziva narrowed her eyes, barely controlling a smirk. McGee snorted loudly behind him.

"Okay, fine, maybe it's not quite the epitome of life in America, it is the embodiment of a DiNozzo date."

"How so?" Ziva leaned back in her chair, hands behind her head, arrogant smirk in place.

He blinked rapidly, regained his train of thought, and said, "It checks all my favorite boxes."

Ziva raised an eyebrow.

He ticked them off on his fingers. "Cars, movies, popcorn, spending the evening with a beautiful woman in a confined space."

"Does the woman come with the popcorn, or do you have to bring your own?"

The sparkle in her eyes, combined with the provocative slouch, made his mouth dry. "You're just jealous nobody has ever taken you to see a drive-in movie."

She touched a finger to her lips. "Doesn't Gibbs have a rule about assumptions?"

His excitement at sharing something important to him with Ziva plummeted. "Oh, so you have been."

Ziva grinned widely and sat up straight to finish packing her bag. "No, but you should not assume."

His earlier hope somewhat restored, he said, "They're playing 'Psycho' tonight, you still haven't seen it, have you?"

"Despite your never-ending reminders that I should, no, I have not."

"Good, if we leave now we can grab something to eat and be at the theater in time to get the perfect spot."

Ziva tilted her head. "Are you asking me out on a date to a drive-in movie, Tony?"

His smile wavered, and he suddenly felt the full heat of the sun bearing down on him through the skylights. He glanced at McGee who was listening quietly with raised eyebrows. "Psh, no," he deflected.

"Okay." She broke eye contact, stood up and shouldered her backpack. "Then McGee can come, too."

"What? No, he can't, 'cause…" He looked at McGee and bit his lip. "He has that thing, remember, you have the thing, with the computers."

McGee stared at him jutting his chin, and crossed his arms.

"The nerd thing, _come on_ , Tim." Tony stared him down, hoping he'd take the hint.

"Well, I would like to go to the _nerd thing_ ," he said smugly. "If only you had paid me back those fifty bucks you owe me."

"I only owe you like thirty…fine," he grumbled and grabbed his wallet, wondering when not going on a date had gotten so expensive.

Ziva masked a chuckle with a cough, while looking for her car keys. "I'll drive."

"No!" He wanted to watch a thriller, not be in one. "You need to be in an American car for the ultimate American experience," he covered feebly.

Ziva looked him up and down with eyes that glowed like the summer sun. "With the ultimate American man?" she teased.

"Heh, you could do worse." He half-shrugged.

Ziva's smile widened. "I could." Then faltered slightly, not breaking eye contact. "I have."

The corners of her eyes crinkled once again, and she walked past him, towards the elevator. "Let's go, Mr. America."

He grabbed his backpack and caught up to her in three big strides. "That doesn't mean what you think it means," he said as they walked into the elevator.

Her eyes drifted over his body slowly as the elevator doors closed. She leaned in closer and murmured, "I know what I said."


	2. Lifeguard

Established Tiva; Tony and Ziva, a beach vacation, a lifeguard messing with Tony's ego.

* * *

Self-consciously touching his stomach, before quickly crossing his arms, Tony wondered whether he should have eaten that second doughnut. Not being intimated by the 15 year younger lifeguard currently engaged in an animated conversation with Ziva, proved to be hard. What that conversation was about, he couldn't tell you; he'd been fighting off the green-eyed monster ever since the Baywatch-runaway struck a ridiculous pose—flexing muscles Tony wasn't sure he even had—and sparking Ziva's interest.

The desire to drape an arm around her shoulder and stake his claim was strong, but he knew Ziva wouldn't appreciate the gesture. He'd never really felt a need to do so before, and vaguely wondered what had brought on this possessiveness. Maybe he shouldn't have fallen asleep while watching a documentary about a pride of lions.

Ziva touched his arm, pulling him out of his green haze. "We should do that tonight," she said, all wide-eyed and glowing in the late afternoon sun.

"We should," he agreed, fake smile plastered all over his face, hoping he hadn't just agreed to go skydiving. Ziva had a tendency to get excited over the weirdest, deadliest things. A light-bulb went on; the look she had given the lifeguard, was similar to that time he showed her a video of someone shooting tracer bullets in the desert.

Tension left his body as Ziva's thumb slowly caressed his arm. What had he even been worried about.

The lifeguard flipped back his long, sun-bleached hair, and flexed his pecs.

Oh right, that.

Before he had a chance to once again worry about his own physique, not to mention his age, Ziva ended the conversation and they parted ways.

Leaving the lifeguard tower behind them, he focused on the warm sand beneath his feet, and Ziva's close proximity, her naked arm practically glued to his.

Curiosity got the better of him, it always did, and he couldn't resist commenting, "You seemed to really admire Mr. Baywatch back there."

She frowned, keeping her eyes on the horizon, as waves rippled closer and closer to their feet.

"When he started flexing his big, bulging muscles," he continued lightheartedly.

She snorted, but otherwise ignored him.

"Admit it, you admire muscular men."

She stopped and tilted her head, brows furrowed. "I do, it requires a lot of dedication to get into that kind of shape."

He broke eye contact, watched two seagulls squabble over an abandoned sandwich. "Are you implying I lack dedication?" He had managed to keep his voice light, smile even, but he couldn't deny the thought of Ziva thinking less of him bothered him.

She narrowed her eyes and smiled softly. "No, of course not, you are extremely dedicated, just to other things." She grabbed hold of his hand. "More important things."

"Like what?" He met her gaze, unprepared for the depth of emotion reflected there. No lifeguard could ever save him from drowning in her eyes.

"Me," she stated matter-of-factly, as waves gently lapped at their feet.

His face split into a grin, "Oh, I'm hopelessly dedicated to you."

"I've noticed." She stepped closer, slid her hands up his bare chest and around his neck.

"Were you impressed by his life-saving skills?" Hands itching to touch her finally found their way to her waist, pulling her against him, skin to skin.

Ziva chuckled. "He might be good at saving people from drowning, but you are the only one who managed to save me from myself."

His lips parted and he blinked rapidly, blaming his suddenly weak legs on the ocean and the sand.

She pulled him down, her warm, soft lips briefly caressed his, as his heartbeat drowned out the pulsing sea.

"I love you", she whispered against his lips, before kissing him desperately, engulfing his soul as the water engulfed their feet, grounding them, keeping them together.

The seagulls angry squawking burst their bubble.

"We should head back to the hotel." Her eyes slid shut briefly as he kissed the tip of her nose. "We need to get ready for tonight."

Unwilling to let her know he hadn't been listening, he put an arm around her shoulder and started walking again. "How long do you think it'll take to get ready?"

Her arm went around his waist, he felt her shrug. "As long as it takes to throw on some clothes. There will be food at the dance."

He looked down at her, relieved. "Then we can stay here a while longer."

She met his gaze, eyes a swirling pool of desire, and a pleasant shiver ran down his spine. "Sand gets everywhere, Tony, it will take a few hours to get rid of every last grain."


	3. Cicadas

I don't know what happened, I was going to write a lighthearted friendship drabble...now look what my brain made me do; angst.

Inspired by art by Pascal Campion (check my tumblr if you want to see), which actually gave me happy, warm vibes, so yeah, my brain definitely glitched after the first two sentences.

Thanks for all the reviews and follows! Hope you'll enjoy this one, even if it turned out darker than intended.

* * *

It felt like a lifetime had passed since the last time she had the opportunity to enjoy some quiet time, out in nature. Resting her arms on her raised knees, chin on her arms, she sat quietly, watching a duck lead her ducklings into the calm water of the lake as the mating call of cicadas quickly faded into white noise.

"This is like a dentist appointment from hell." Tony plopped down next to her, scooting a little closer to stay out of the blazing sun.

Ziva rested her cheek on her arms so she could look at him. So much for quiet time.

His smile looked as tired as she felt. She supposed they could all do with some quiet time—even if that meant different things for each team member—after the harrowing case they had just wrapped up. She rested her chin back on her arms and went back to staring at the ducklings. So small and innocent, still clueless to the dangers of the world. Or so she hoped.

She sighed heavily.

Tony's movement caught her eye and she looked up questioningly.

"I guess you came out here to be alone," he said with a lopsided smile, as he brushed dirt from the back of his dress pants. The shorts and tank top she was currently wearing had doubled as pajamas. Taking time off to enjoy the weather hadn't been on the program when they came here.

"Yes…but…"

But what? She wasn't sure. She had come here to be alone, before their flight home, to make sense of what had happened. What had almost happened. But now that he was here, she no longer wanted to be alone and dwell, not on a beautiful summer day like today.

"It's okay," he said reassuringly, "can't get a word in edgewise, anyways, with those damn cicadas."

It was clear he understood, there were no hard feelings. She grabbed his hand nonetheless, and pulled him back down next to her. His face lit up, and her heart felt a little fuller, as she watched the ducklings bob up and down on calm waves.

Stretching out his legs, he leaned back on his elbows, and sighed heavily. A few moments later he reclined completely, another sigh,this time barely audible above the cicadas song.

A chill ran through her, and she crossed her arms a little tighter on top of her knees. The back of his hand brushed against her hip, stayed there, warm and reassuring.

Her throat tightened, she swallowed hard, blinking away tears that threatened to fall. Biting her bottom lip, she dropped her left hand, intertwined their fingers.

She was so sick of close calls. One of these days…

A shaky breath left her lips, his fingers squeezed reassuringly, confirming that he was still here, still by her side.

She squeezed back, focusing on the lake, the ducks, the calming breeze, the sound of the cicadas. Focusing on the comforting warmth of his hand, trying hard not to wonder when those close calls would stop being close calls, and the comforting warmth would be nothing more than a painful memory.


	4. In Tune

Tiva, Tony-centric fluff, basically an apartment building meet cute AU, inspired by a post on tumblr and tags by Gingerstorm101.

* * *

His fingers flit over the keys, strings vibrated in the warm summer air. He needed to clear his mind, and movies wouldn't cut it this time. Keeping his touch light—it was getting late, after all, and he didn't want to disturb his neighbors—his mind wandered to one particular neighbor; the brunette he had seen hauling moving boxes into the downstairs apartment this morning. If he hadn't been so rushed he would have offered a hand. And a drink. Dinner. Who knew, he grinned. When the case was over he'd definitely want to get to know her better.

Opting not to sing aloud, he hummed the lyrics softly, wishing he'd had a chance to see Sinatra perform before his death. He would've asked him to sign one of his records. Would that have made him a geek, like McGee?

His fingers stilled and he stared into space, mind hard at work, making connections none of them had seen so far.

"The geek!" He briefly slammed the ivories in triumph, then remembered he was trying to be quiet, and called Gibbs to inform him of his breakthrough.

When he arrived home from work 36 hours later, with one deceptively innocent looking criminal behind bars, he felt hot, hungry, physically exhausted. Someone in the building had cooked up something fragrant and exotic that made his stomach protest at the prospect of the junk food he usually offered. With the swing of his front door, a note drifted into his living room. Grimacing, he dropped his bag, loosened the tie that doubled as a noose in the warm weather, and picked up the note. Mentally preparing himself to apologize to whichever neighbor had complained for his late night jam session, he turned over the note:

"A humble request to the pianist: O Mio Babbino Caro in Ab Major"

His brow wrinkled as the corner of his mouth quirked upwards. That was a nice surprise to come home to.

Opting for a much needed shower first, he placed the neatly written note on his coffee table, and looked for the sheet music on his phone, while wolfing down a bagel on his way to the bathroom.

Feeling like a functioning human being again twenty minutes later, he sat down at the piano wearing nothing but shorts. After some stretching, he rested his fingers on the keys, looking at the sheet. He was about to start playing when he realized he had no idea which neighbor had made the request. Wanting to make sure they got the most of it, he stood up and opened a window, letting in a cool breeze which carried the delicious smell from earlier in the hallway.

He sat back down at the piano, and shivered briefly as the cool air raised goose bumps on his skin. A solemn feeling filled the room, a shiver ran down his spine.

Shrugging off the sudden change in atmosphere, he sat up straighter and began to play. His fingers caressed the keys with a reverence of their own accord. While he appreciated classical music, he rarely played it, but for some reason this piece spoke to him.

His hands hovered over the keys for a few seconds after the piece ended, then he dropped them in his lap. Clapping floated in through the window. He smiled widely, enjoying the fact that he had clearly made someone happy.

Work had ended early, the good mood he had been in since yesterday hadn't ended at all. Looking for a place to park he watched a piano store delivery truck pull away from the curb. Taking advantage of the parking space, he wondered which of his neighbors had decided to get a piano.

Whistling as he bounded up the stairs, he was relieved to start the weekend early for a change. His hat landed on the coat rack with precision, and he couldn't help but mimic the Fonz. Grabbing a beer from the fridge and throwing open a window, he wondered if he should buy a lottery ticket. He took a swig from the beer, he _was_ feeling lucky tonight.

His eyes landed on the piano as a well-known tune landed in his mind. Singing "Luck be a Lady", he half-danced towards the piano and sat down with flair. He placed the bottle on the seat beside him, not caring if it left a stain.

A tune he hadn't heard in a long time drifted in through the window, making him look up. He grinned, memories of childhood piano lessons mingled with the music lightly filling his apartment. He began to play along, ignoring the resentment one particular piano teacher had created for "Heart and Soul". The music coming from outside faltered, then resumed with a passion. He snorted, then realized with a flutter in his stomach that the music was coming from his new downstairs neighbor.

When they finished the piece, he jumped to his feet, grabbed his keys and the note with the neatly written request, and rushed downstairs. He skidded to a stop in front of her apartment, some classical piece he couldn't quite place vibrating through the door and into his soul. He knocked before knowing full well what he was doing.

The music stopped, he fussed with the note, then held it up as soon as the door opened. Her face opened like a flower in the early morning light at the sight of it.

"Thank you," she said solemnly.

He thought he caught a glint of sadness in the depth of those impossibly brown eyes, but was too distracted to pay it much attention.

"No, thank you," he insisted and introduced himself properly.

"Ziva David." She smiled warmly. "I missed lunch, so I am having an early dinner." She pointed behind her. "There is lasagna in the oven, would you like some?"

He smiled his million-dollar smile. Luck was definitely a lady tonight, he thought as she closed the door behind him.


	5. House of Mirrors

I actually wrote half of another meet cute AU yesterday, to post today, but figured two of those in a row might be a bit much. Not sure about what I wrote instead...

Set early in their partnership, budding Tony and Ziva friendship.

* * *

"Archery," she said, pointing to her left, eyes wide as she grabbed his arm, like a kid spotting Santa Claus in August.

"We're not here to have fun, Ziva." Her brows furrowed and she let go of his arm. Not feeling guilty for spoiling her fun—if he was in a bad mood so should everyone else—he took it a step further. "Tell you what, if we catch our perp, and you're a good little girl, I'll buy you a caramel apple."

He really should have known better, trying to pat her on the head was just adding injury to insult. The injury was all his, of course. Ziva had intercepted his hand before it even came close to the top of her head. Pain shot through his body and all he could think of was freeing himself, his deep-rooted hatred of funfairs the furthest thing from his mind. He suddenly understood why wild animals gnawed off a limb to get out of a trap.

Of course, he had laid this trap out all for himself.

"Uncle," he said and grit his teeth.

She let go of his hand, and looked around. "Where?"

"What?" He flexed and stretched his arm and hand.

She looked up at him. "Where is your uncle?"

He blinked slowly, rolled his eyes, and walked off.

"What?" She said, before following a step behind, brows knit together tightly.

They reached the end of the fair, still no sign of their drug dealer, when Ziva's eye landed on a house of mirrors. "Oh look, Tony, that's right up your alley."

He flashed her a cold smile, memories of a summer he had successfully repressed rearing their ugly head. "I don't know whether to be impressed that you got that idiom right, or insulted."

She chuckled, then elbowed his arm and nodded at the entrance; their suspect had finally showed up. He looked around suspiciously, then walked inside.

Tony groaned and rubbed his stiff neck. "Of all the attractions, in all the carnivals, in all the world, he walks into that one."

Ziva narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. "What?"

He sighed in frustration. "Just go," he grumbled, and flashed his badge at the operator near the entrance.

When he walked out into the sun 10 minutes later, pushing the handcuffed suspect in front of him, his mood had lifted considerably. He looked back at Ziva, dabbing at her face with a bloody handkerchief, while arguing with the house of mirrors operator.

"And I am telling you to contact NCIS if you want those mirrors replaced." She stalked away from the man angrily.

Tony smirked briefly when she caught up with him.

"I am so glad you finally find something amusing," she said testily as they reached the car.

He shook his head. "It's not like that," he said and looked at her. The cuts on her cheek, and her nose had stopped bleeding, but that bump on her forehead looked like it was trying to rival Mount Everest. "You'll want to get your head checked out, that bump is starting to look nasty."

She touched a finger to her forehead and winced slightly.

He pushed the drug dealer into the backseat, and closed the car door.

"Why do you hate the carnival so much," Ziva asked standing next to the passenger door.

He leaned his arms on top of the car roof and looked at her, contemplating telling her the truth, or making up something outrageous. Taking in the cuts, the bump, and what was probably a broken nose and soon to be black eye, he decided she deserved the truth.

"When I was 15, I was at a carnival with some buddies, trying to impress a girl." He scoffed at his own teenage stupidity. "Claimed I could run through the house of mirrors in 1 minute." He grimaced, taking in her injuries again. "I came out looking much like you, except I had to pay for the broken glass out of my allowance. My friends thought it was hilarious, I was the laughing stock for the rest of the summer."

She had listened quietly with an intrigued expression. He hoped she wasn't filing away the embarrassing anecdote so she could hold it against him later. Or share it with McGee.

"Sounds like you could have used better friends," she said, and gave him a tight smile.

A smile tugged at his own lips; getting to know her, really know her, was going to take a long time. "Why don't we come back after work," he suggested. "I'll buy you that caramel apple for being a good little NCIS agent."

She scrunched up her face and stuck out her tongue, then got into the car. He chuckled, sliding into the driver's seat. However long it took to figure her out, it certainly wouldn't be boring.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for reading, liking, commenting, sharing,...any of my fics, I truly appreciate it.


	6. International Incident

Inspired by the prompt: We both brought the same lawn chair. You couldn't find yours and saw me packing up, so now you're accusing me of stealing.

This needed more editing, and a better ending, but this is as good as it's going to get today.

Tiva meet cute AU

* * *

"What do you think you are doing?"

The Israeli staring him down, hands on her hips, looked surprisingly menacing for someone wearing nothing but a bikini. "Packing up my chair," he said, pushing his aviators on top of his head for an unobstructed view. He looked her up and down, flashed her the DiNozzo-smile. This was exactly why he had decided to vacation in Tel Aviv.

"Is this some weird, American attempt at picking someone off." Her eyes flashed.

"That's picking up, and don't flatter yourself, sweetheart." He snapped the chair closed, and rested it against his leg.

"What did you just call me?"

He moved his sunglasses back to the bridge of his nose; he had a feeling she would combust like a supernova if they kept up this conversation. When he was seven he had poked a wasps nest with a stick, just to see what would happen. This situation felt eerily similar. "I take it back," he said smoothly, then picked up the proverbial stick after looking her up and down once more. "You have every reason to flatter yourself."

Her nostrils flared, hands balled into fists, and his mind filled with the angry buzzing of the wasps that had chased him into the pool. She took a step closer, and it was at this point that he realized just how toned she really was…and that she most likely knew krav maga. He took an involuntary step back, his chair plopped down in the sand.

Distracted, he looked down at the chair, which was suddenly joined by two pairs of army boots. Authoritative sounding Hebrew was exchanged between the two soldiers and the woman currently glaring at him, the chair, then back at him.

Putting up his hands, he said, "Look, I don't know what's going on here, but this is my chair, I bought it yesterday." He couldn't help himself, wondered whether he was already suffering from heatstroke, and said seductively while flashing her a smile, "I have the receipt in my hotel room if you want to check."

The soldiers' eyes went wide as they both turned to him, one of them shook his head slightly.

He sighed, why did he always feel the need to stoke the fire. He grimaced as she opened her mouth, eyes ablaze, and was saved in the nick of time by one of the soldiers scraping his throat. The soldier quickly nodded to his right, then stood up even straighter.

He eyes followed her gaze and landed on a chair exactly like his. Aside from the army fatigues resting on top of it.

For a split second her chin dropped, before facing the soldiers and telling them to leave.

His heart drummed in his chest, and he could barely contain the shit-eating grin that was tugging at his lips. "This isn't good PR," he said lightly, already forgetting his cocky attitude had almost landed him in a hospital a minute ago. "IDF soldier falsely accuses US federal agent of theft."

"Rav samal," she said aggravated, then touched her ear lobe, and seemed to calm down. "Platoon sergeant," she explained waving a hand.

"Well that just makes it worse." He took off his sunglasses, and chuckled.

She narrowed her eyes, clasped her hands in front of her while straightening her shoulders. "I am sorry."

The apology came rather unexpectedly, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest while meeting her gaze. The apology clearly hadn't been lip service trying to save face for the IDF. Intrigued, he wanted to learn whether there was a warm center inside that burning surface. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm feeling so attacked right now, I could use a drink." He grinned, and continued, "If only someone could guide me to the nearest bar."

She stared him down blankly for a moment, then relented. "Fine, let me get my chair and clothes."


	7. Can You Canoe

Tony and Ziva being, well, Tony and Ziva, loosely inspired by a picture on tumblr and the prompt canoe.

I didn't feel like writing AT ALL today, because I'm not feeling well, but I saw the picture, which prompted a memory, and thought, lol, yeah that would be funny, I'll write a few lines of nothing but dialogue and call it a day...but then I couldn't stop writing and now I have an X-files plot reject on my hands.

* * *

"You said you knew how to canoe."

Her voice was testy and he realized he was heading into dangerous waters if he kept this up. At least she was talking again after he mentioned Deliverance one time too many.

"I swear to god, Tony, if you splash me one more time-"

He cut her off, "You'll what?"

"I will make it look like an accident."

He looked over his shoulder, only to be faced with a death glare and flaring nostrils. "Ha!" Surely this was one of her usual, empty threats.

"I will claim the boat tipped over, you drowned." Her indifferent tone was betrayed by the sparkle in her eyes.

He looked ahead to hide his smirk, and tried to ignore his muscles protesting the rowing. Next time a petty officer decided to get murdered in an inaccessible area he was sending in the probie.

At least this canoe had a seat, otherwise his knee would've killed him. Now he could leave the killing up to Ziva, he barely contained a chuckle. Ziva explaining how she was going to cover up his murder was still better than the silent treatment she had given him the past hour. "When they find my body, Ducky will-"

Her breath was suddenly in his ear. " _If_ they find your body, I will say I must have accidentally whacked you over the head while we were both falling overboard." A shiver ran through him, not because of her words and his imaginary murder, but because of her close proximity.

He glanced her way, she moved back to her seat. "This reminds me-"

"If you mention 'Deliverance' one more ti-"

He splashed as much water as possible at her with his paddle. Good thing he had the common sense to put their gear in front of him, he didn't fully trust the dry bag McGee had given them.

The absolute silence that followed his splashing was eerie—at the very least he had expected a string of cussing by now. When he turned towards her, he noticed she had changed her grip on the paddle. That was not a paddling grip, that was a whacking grip. He swallowed.

Deciding it was time to de-escalate the situation he had created, he looked at her. She stared off to her right, completely motionless, brows furrowed, eyes narrowed.

"Tony." Her voice sounded uncharacteristically small.

"What?" He hoped the uneasy feeling in his stomach was due to the questionable breakfast burrito he had bought at the gas station on their way over here. He had spent enough time around Gibbs to know better.

"What…is that."

He followed her line of sight, saw what to his untrained eye looked like a brown bear near the river bank, and let out a breath. "Don't worry, we're safe here, I've never heard of bears attacking canoes on the water."

"Tony." She moved towards him slowly, practically gluing herself to his back, and whispered with conviction, her breath warm against his cheek, "That is _not_ a bear."

He turned his face towards her, trying to look her in the eyes, but poking her with his nose instead. "What are you talking about? That's a bear."

She placed her hands on the side of his head and turned him back in the right direction.

The big, hairy creature lifted its head, and Tony squinted to get a better look. Ziva's hands slipped from his head. From the corner of his eye he saw her raise her phone and record the bear. He supposed it was a moment worth capturing, but couldn't help but tease her all the same.

"If you're thinking about working for National Geographic you're going to have to come up with something more interesting than a bear drinking OHMYGOD!" As the bear, which now clearly wasn't a bear, stood up straight, Tony scrambled backwards instinctively, crashing into Ziva.

She lost her balance, and her grip on the phone, both falling overboard with a loud splash. He briefly looked for her, found her breaching the water surface almost immediately and spitting out water, before focusing his attention back on the…he couldn't say it.

Tony stood up in the canoe, trying to balance his weight while fumbling for his own phone. The…bear…creature…appeared to grow even taller at this, clearly feeling threatened. It thumped its chest like a gorilla, and let out a series of bone chilling growls.

Instinct got the better of him once more, and as he tried to take a step back, he tripped over his seat and joined Ziva in the water.

When he came up for air, he instantly looked for the river bank, which was now empty. "Where is it?" He looked at Ziva. "Where did it go?" He looked back at the empty river bank, adrenaline rushing through his veins. "That was…b-bigfoot." He faced Ziva, out of breath, and asked, "Did you get it with your phone?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I did, before you made me fall overboard." The death glare and flaring nostrils from earlier were back. "And drop my phone." Grabbing the side of the canoe she hoisted herself back on board.

The fact that he had been treading water hadn't occurred to him until now. He pulled himself up as well, yet with more difficulty and no help from Ziva.

"Abby's going to kill us."

"No," she replied in the dangerous tone she had barely used the past few years. "I will kill you, Abby will help me dispose of your body." She looked around the inside of the boat, then at the water. "Where's that paddle…"


	8. Like a Dog With a Bone

Gibbs reminiscing on Tony and Ziva's relationship after Ziva shows up at a crime scene wearing an OSU hoodie.

* * *

Gibbs did a double take as Ziva walked up to the crime scene. For a second he thought his eyes might be betraying him in the moonlight, but as she got closer the red letters on the gray oversized hoodie were crystal clear.

She said hello, he nodded, told her to start collecting evidence. DiNozzo was not far behind her, he never was. Many years ago he had told his senior field agent he wanted him on Ziva's ass. Looked like DiNozzo had taken that literally after all.

As DiNozzo got to work sketching, and pestering McGee, Gibbs smirked, happy that after all these years, and everything those two had been through, they finally realized they belonged together.

"Nice hoodie," he said.

She looked up at him in confusion, then down at the hoodie. "Oh, it's Tony's, good thing I ran into him in the parking lot." She took an evidence bag out of the front pocket and crouched down to collect a discarded shell. "I had not expected it to be this cold, still."

Gibbs' expression turned to stone. He looked at DiNozzo, wondering what it would take for them to take that leap. "Sun'll be up soon," he told Ziva, and went to check on Ducky, hoping DiNozzo and Ziva wouldn't wait until it was too late and all they were left with was regret.

With their work finished and the early summer sun warming the air, he headed for the parking lot. McGee, Ducky and Palmer had left for the Navy Yard an hour ago, DiNozzo and Ziva only five minutes ago.

Birds in nearby trees were singing cheerful tunes in the morning light. A cheerfulness he didn't appreciate after being called to a murder scene on their day off. Not to mention after realizing two people he cared about were too stubborn to take a chance on each other.

DiNozzo and Ziva were engaged in their usual banter, close to where his car was parked. He clenched his jaw and felt his stomach harden. Ignoring them was the sensible thing to do, but he had enough of their antics. They should have left by now, come to their senses by now. He head slapped them both, wasting only on word on them. "Idiots."

DiNozzo and Ziva looked at each other in confusion, as he continued on to his car and got in. Glancing in the rear view mirror, he wondered if he had anything to do with the fact that the two had never gotten together.

Ziva had her back turned towards his car, but he could clearly see DiNozzo smile widely at her as he flicked one of the strings on the hoodie she was wearing. His gut churned, and he turned around in the driver's seat to get a better look at their interaction.

He couldn't hear the conversation but he did faintly hear Ziva chuckle. Feeling only mildly guilty at invading their privacy, he decided to read Tony's lips.

"You know I love it when you wear my clothes."

She tugged lightly at the t-shirt DiNozzo was wearing, and he laughed at whatever she had said.

DiNozzo's reply didn't leave much to the imagination. "Only if you wear nothing but this shirt."

She placed the palm of her hand on his chest, and Gibbs took that as his cue to stop spying on his two agents. Looked like they had taken that leap after all. He took one last glance in the mirror and saw DiNozzo watching Ziva's back as she walked to her car.

Gibbs smiled, DiNozzo was like a dog with a bone when given an order; still on Ziva's ass seven years later.


	9. Independence Day

Today's prompt: barbecue.

Gibbs invites the team over to celebrate the Fourth of July, the summer after Ziva became a US citizen.

Thank you all for reading and the continued support. I'll try to catch up on replies tomorrow.

* * *

The smell of grilled meat wafted in through the open kitchen door. He watched Abby and Ziva busy themselves, slicing and dicing vegetables that would go untouched by Gibbs, who had decided to invite them all for a Fourth of July barbecue.

Abby walked out carrying trays of food, babbling about who knows what, while Ziva tidied up the kitchen counter.

"Are you excited for the fireworks later?"

Ziva turned around, an amused smile on her lips. "I have seen fireworks before, Tony."

"Yes, but this is your first Fourth of July as an American." He wasn't entirely sure where he was going with this conversation, but his gut told him he needed to go there. "You know we never talked much about you becoming a citizen." Ah, there it was, the subject that had been bugging him, often subconsciously, for months.

Ziva scoffed and raised an eyebrow. "As I recall you had quite a lot to say about it."

He grimaced, smoke wafting in from outdoors burning his throat. "Yeah," he started, then cleared his throat, "I'm sorry I wasn't more supportive back then, I was just trying…"

She raised her eyebrows, curiosity swirling in her dark eyes.

Guilt and pain swirling in his mind. "Never mind, I don't want to spoil tonight." He ignored her look of confusion, and decided to continue with a related train of thought. "I'm sorry I missed your ceremony."

She narrowed her eyes, and stepped closer, into his space, not giving an inch. "You already apologized for that, and I told you it was not your fault, you had no choice."

It never ceased to amaze him how soothing her words could be, how much empathy she kept locked up inside that tough-as-nails exterior. It was one of the things that had surprised him most about her. One of the things that made him feel privileged whenever she showed him that side of her.

"I know the job comes first."

His chest tightened at her casually spoken words. They had both heard that many times, ever since they were little kids, and he, for one, was getting sick of it. They both deserved better. "Maybe the job shouldn't always come first."

She frowned and opened her mouth, no words came out.

Watching her get lost in thought, he said, "Anyway, how does it feel to be free of Mossad?"

"Peaceful."

Pleased at steering the conversation into brighter territory, more fitting for a warm summer day, surrounded by good friends, he said, "That's good, right?"

She gave him one of her brightest smiles, her eyes catching the warmth of the sun, a warmth that could grow new, happy memories. "Better than I had ever expected."

The tightness in his chest melted away as his own smile grew. "I'm so glad you're back, that you're …here."

"I'm happy to be here." She stared at him with a curiosity that seemed to strip away all his defensive layers.

How did she always know when he was not telling her everything? Choosing not to go down that rabbit hole, he pointed outside, and said, "I bet you'd be even happier with a burger." He turned to leave, to join the rest of the team in the garden.

She gently grabbed his arm. "Tony, why were you being a—" she broke eye contact, shook her head slightly and shrugged—"jerk, when I was studying for my citizenship?"

There was no accusation in her tone, or her eyes, but it hurt all the same. It hurt, because he knew he had hurt her with his words. It hurt, because it made him remember what had led up to her decision to become a US citizen .

He glanced around uneasily, the tightness in his chest was back with a vengeance. He hoped she would drop the subject, but he knew her better than that.

Sighing heavily, he looked away, gathering his thoughts. "I was trying to get back what we had, go back to how we were when you first joined NCIS."

He shook his head again, then met her gaze. She gave him a tight-lipped smile, eyes full of understanding. Her thumb drew circles on his arm, releasing some of his tension.

"It didn't work, it all came out wrong." He shrugged and swallowed hard.

"We are not those people anymore, Tony."

"I know." He had a sinking feeling in his stomach, and blinked rapidly.

"We have both grown." She glanced away, pursed her lips. When she locked eyes with him again, she squeezed his arm lightly, reassuringly. "Our friendship has grown."

He smiled softly, she was right. He wished they—she—hadn't gone through certain things, but they were closer now. Hearing her say those words was like shrugging off a cloak of guilt and regret that had shrouded him since that fateful evening in her apartment.

His stomach growled, he could only resist the mouthwatering smells floating into the kitchen for so long. "Let's get you some real American food."

She bumped into his arm playfully as they walked out, and as the warmth of the evening sun touched his face, he felt lighter than he had in over a year.

They reached the porch and stopped for a moment, looking out into the garden. He sensed her hesitation as she took in her friends—family—standing around smiling, laughing, generally having a good time.

His hand reached for hers as he said, "Happy Independence Day, Ziva David, American extraordinaire."


	10. Dehydrated

Today's prompt: dehydrated (warning: the story is as dehydrated as the title)

Tony, Ziva and McGee are working a crime scene in a field, in the hot midday sun.

* * *

"Why does it have to be this hot?" Tony looked up at the sky, as if the sun would take a break on his behalf, while trying to shake off a cramp in his leg.

Ziva looked up at his umpteenth complaint, and noticed he had removed his hat. If she was perfectly honest, even she was getting tired of the sun beating down on them in the open field. She glanced at her watch; Ducky, Palmer and Gibbs would be comfortably inside the air-conditioned Navy Yard by now.

"You wouldn't be complaining about this heat if you were on a beach," McGee said.

"If I were on a beach there'd be an exotic beauty fanning me with a palm leaf while I'm sipping cocktails out of—" he squinted and tilted his head, "—what are they called, the round things…"

"Coconuts?" Ziva said, paying closer attention to his face, the way he kept wetting his lips.

"How do you forget the word for coconut?" McGee mocked.

"It's hot and I have a headache, okay, I feel like my brain's leaking out of my ears." He pointed at McGee menacingly in anticipation of a snarky comment about how that would require a brain. Bending down to look at something in the dry, brown grass, he muttered, "It'd be really nice if the world stopped spinning, too."

Alarm bells went off in Ziva's head, and she hurried to his side. She touched his forehead, then squatted down next to him and placed her fingers on his wrist while checking her watch.

"Can't keep your hands off me, huh." His grin was a pale reflection of his usual thousand-watt smile.

"Your heart's racing." He gave her a lopsided grin, the intent to make some cheesy comment crystal clear in his eyes, but no words left his mouth. She stood up and looked around for her backpack. "You are not sweating either."

"Thank god for that," McGee chimed in.

"McGee!"

McGee looked shocked at her outburst, then seemed to realize something was wrong as Ziva rushed to her backpack and came back with a bottle of water.

"When is the last time you had something to drink?" She asked Tony, opening the bottle. He replied with a questionable, "This morning?"

Ziva cussed, it was late afternoon and they had been in the sun with no shelter for hours. She gave him the opened bottle of water with a stern look, then glanced at McGee who was now standing next to them. "We need to get him out of the sun, he's dehydrated."

Ten minutes later, Tony was sitting in the shade, propped up against a tree. He had downed most of the water, and was enjoying the little puffs of air Ziva was creating by fanning him with her NCIS cap.

He cracked open an eye to look at her, "Looks like I made it to the beach after all."


	11. Wear Sunscreen

Today's prompt: sunscreen (still sick, so another short one)

Established Tiva

* * *

She walked into the bullpen with a spring in her step, her smile spreading even wider when she saw him standing at the filing cabinet, back turned towards her. It had only been two days, but she had missed him, missed those broad shoulders, missed running her hands over his back… She pursed her lips and dropped her bag behind her desk.

Her cheery good morning was barely acknowledged by Tony. She touched her earlobe and wondered why Tony was so grumpy. He had texted her last night, to make sure she had gotten home safe, and nothing had seemed out of the ordinary.

"How was the Pilates weekend," McGee asked.

He glanced at Tony while stifling laughter, which only added to her confusion. "It was great," she said distractedly as she sat down behind her desk.

The cabinet drawer slammed shut, and Tony plopped down in his chair. Her eyes went wide as she finally got a good look at him. The tan lines around his eyes stood in stark contrast to the red skin of his face.

"What happened to you?"

McGee broke out in laughter as Tony stared at her blankly. Admittedly, it looked silly, but it also looked incredibly painful. She walked over to him and leaned against his desk, her back turned towards McGee.

He looked up at her with miserable eyes. "Everybody had plans this weekend, I figured I'd catch some rays on the roof of my building." He rubbed the back of his neck and winced. "I forgot to use sunscreen and fell asleep."

She grimaced, resisting the urge to touch his sunburnt skin, knowing it would bring no relief.

He leaned back briefly and glanced at McGee, then met her eyes again and quietly said, "I'm not gonna be any fun tonight."

Her eyes drifted down his body, disappointed she hadn't cancelled her weekend plans and prevented her partner from turning into a lobster. It looked like the welcome home celebration she had in mind would have to wait.

She tilted her head, a sly smile appeared on her lips. She pointed at his eyes, "Are those your only tan lines?"

He frowned. "Does it even matter?"

She leaned in close, and murmured, "It will when I'm rubbing lotion on you tonight."


	12. Crime and Punishment

Today's prompt: Does your OC have any summer traditions?

Early season 3 Tony and Ziva

* * *

His nose is the first thing she recognizes as she runs past him, intent on breaking last week's record while the air was still relatively cool. It's when she glances back over her shoulder and really takes him in that she decides beating your own record is not that important. She slows down, doubles back, the grass soft below her shoes.

He's wearing a cap she has never seen him wear before, and sitting sideways on the wooden slat bench, one leg drawn up supporting a book. Slowing down to a walk, she quietly comes to a halt two feet behind him. As she looks over his shoulder at the open book, she holds her breath, and makes sure he doesn't notice her. What she reads piques her curiosity even more than merely finding him here, alone on a park bench, on a Sunday morning.

"Not enough crime and punishment at work?"

The book lands in the short grass with a thud as he jumps up and turns toward her. He squints at her, seemingly annoyed at being caught. "Didn't I tell you to stop doing that."

She chuckles and walks around him as he picks up the book. His eyes drift up her legs slowly, and she smirks.

He glances at her running outfit one more time and says, "Running?"

She gives him a smug smile, and glances at the book he is holding. "Reading?"

He clenches his jaw and sits back down, crossing his legs. His eyes swirl with annoyance, amusement, and, something she can't quite place. Deciding to get to the bottom of these warring emotions, that clearly have to do with her finding him here, she stretches her legs.

"I did not expect to find you here this early," she asks casually, placing one bare leg next to him on the bench and bending over to stretch her hamstrings. It gets his attention, as expected. She slowly runs her hands over her leg as she comes back up, his eyes following them like a missile tracking system locked on target. She switches to the other leg, and after another lingering look, his eyes finally meet hers.

All annoyance has been replaced with something darker, deeper, more dangerous. Something that makes her heart beat in a way a morning run never could. She wets her lips, tries to get her thoughts back on track. "No date last night, then?"

He narrows his eyes, a hint of suspicion. "No, no date."

Dragging information out of people is half the fun, but she is surprised at the resistance he is putting up today. Determined to find out why he is here, she stretches some more, with more flair and flexibility than strictly necessary.

He enjoys the show unabashedly as she knew he would. His silence is somewhat unsettling, so she sits down next to him and meets his gaze. "I assumed you would prefer something lighter, with more pictures, perhaps," she says, tapping the cover of his copy of "Crime and Punishment".

He scoffs. "Looks like you don't know me as well as you thought you did, Officer David."

There's a challenge in his eyes that she is more than willing to accept.

"Enlighten me." She refuses to break eye contact. "Why are you here reading literature instead of sneaking out of some woman's apartment?"

His reluctance fades as soon as she bumps his leg with hers.

"We've been too busy at work to enjoy the nice weather, I like to come here and read when I have the time."

She frowns, unsure why he would treat this as a secret, then remembers his reputation and wonders what else he is hiding behind that playboy, loudmouthed persona of his.

"Reading is not a crime."

"It isn't, but if you tell McGee, I will punish you."

She looks him up and down, then sniggers. "Tempting." Jumping to her feet, she winks, and breaks into a jog.

"Hey," he calls after her, and she turns around, moving backwards slowly. "If you trip over a dead petty officer, wait a few more hours to call Gibbs, I'd like to finish the rest of the book."

She raises her hand and resumes jogging, determined to read every page in his book.


	13. Quiet Night

Today's prompt: Hot summer nights with a light breeze, sharing a hammock at 2 a.m.

Established Tiva

Thanks for the many reviews, will reply when I feel better.

* * *

Sleep had eluded her all night. Their case had hit a dead end, the ceiling fan in her bedroom had stopped working, and, quite frankly, she was sick of living under one roof with her coworkers. Well, two of them, anyway.

Most of all, she was sick of watching her every word and every move.

Light snoring she had gotten used to months ago, drifted in through the open window. She slipped out of bed to look outside. The sight of him in the hammock, bare chested and bathed in moonlight was too hard to resist. If McGee found them out there, he would blackmail them to do his bidding at work. If Gibbs found them…

Her fingers itched to touch his lightly tanned skin. She had been good all week—they both had—all work and no play. No touching, just looks that gave the summer sun a run for her money. She closed her eyes and listened. The house was quiet, the only sound the light rustling of the trees outside and her snoring partner.

She smirked, and sneaked out the window, feeling like a delinquent teenager. The grass tickled her feet, the light breeze cooled her heated skin.

She touched her lips to his, a proven method to wake him up quietly. His eyelids fluttered, and he didn't give her a chance to pull back the slightest, grabbing a fistful of hair keeping her in place, lips demanding more. Fingers trailed down his chest, careful not to leave a mark. The pent-up desire of the past week made her lightheaded, the desire to feel his skin against hers made her weak.

"Mind if I join you," she murmured against his lips.

He smiled with hooded eyes, holding the sides of the hammock open for her. The hammock swayed from side to side as she crawled in unsteadily, making sure not to accidentally knee him in the groin.

They managed to find a comfortable position. She bit her bottom lip to suppress a giggle and wondered why she was acting like this. Why she felt so desperate to be close to him, throwing caution to the wind.

Images of the victim flashed before her eyes, the previously pleasant breeze chilled her to the core. She closed her eyes, trailed kisses down his neck, hoping to chase away the demons.

He inhaled deeply and let out a satisfied sigh, one hand playing with her loose curls, the other underneath her tank top, drawing lazy circles on the small of her back.

Her eyelids grew heavy, his heartbeat a soothing lullaby, his hands a safe comfort. This was what had kept her up all night, what she had craved the past week. In a matter of months she had become addicted to the comfort he offered during difficult cases.

The sliver of fear brought on by the realization was quickly swept away when he sleepily murmured, "I missed you."

A peaceful sigh slipped from her lips, her consciousness ebbing away. She should get up, go back to her room, if Gibbs found them like this in the morning…

The warm breeze covered her like a blanket, and as soft, warm lips kissed her forehead they wiped away all conscious thought and worry.


	14. Popsicles

Very short, crime scene banter.

Something is better than nothing, right, or maybe not, you be the judge.

I will get around to replying to reviews, at some point, meanwhile a very big thank you for all the support.

* * *

A shiver ran down his spine as he walked past the steel door. He wasn't sure whether the chill had to do with the temperature in the walk-in freezer or the mutilated corpse in the middle of the floor—well, there was a bit of it to the side, and he didn't really want to know what that thing in the back was.

"Feeling a bit queasy?" Ziva asked, one corner of her mouth turned up.

"No—" he glared, "—I didn't dress for an arctic expedition."

McGee walked up next to him. "I thought you'd be happy about that, it's a hundred degrees outside, can you imagine the stench if he had been murdered in the other room?"

"That's one of those things you think but don't say, Probie."

Ziva quirked an eyebrow and gave him an amused smile. "I was not aware you were familiar with that concept, Tony."

"If I told you everything I thought, you would implode," he said with a cocky smile.

She scoffed and was about to argue when Ducky and Palmer walked in with the gurney and she had to step outside to make room.

Palmer stared at the frozen corpse a moment, then smiled and looked at them cheerfully. "This reminds me, I brought popsicles, they're in the van."

Ziva scrunched up her face. "You brought popsicles to a crime scene."

"In the back of a van that transports dead people," McGee continued.

Palmer nodded enthusiastically.

Tony closed his eyes briefly, this was going to be one of those days. "As usual, the award for inappropriate things to say around a corpse goes to the Autopsy Gremlin." He turned to McGee. "You lose, Probie."


	15. One Out of Three

Today's prompt: um, it was something along the lines of "having fun in a summer rainstorm"

Tiva, with a capital T.

* * *

It had been hot and humid all day. The unpleasant weather had led to an unpleasant mood. The unpleasant mood became even more sour when Gibbs send Tony and her out into the field again, five minutes after they had gotten in from another interview.

McGee's face had split in two at the prospect of remaining in the cool, perfectly regulated air of the Navy Yard. She had considered pelting her stapler at him, but at least he had the common decency not to gloat.

The interview turned out to be a bust and they made their way back to the car in silence, both tired of the bickering they had been doing all day. The storm clouds that had gathered on the horizon when they first left the car were now looming dangerously over the small park they were passing through.

A single splash on her cheek. She wiped it away, _you have got to be kidding me_.

"I told you it was gonna rain, but you thought you knew better than my weather app, little miss-we-don't-need-no-stinkin'-umbrel-"

"Will you shut up about that app!"

As fast and thunderous as the words had left her mouth, the clouds burst and dumped what appeared to be the content of an Olympic swimming pool over the park.

They ran for the car like their life depended on it. Three seconds into the sprint Ziva realized just how futile that was. Their car was at least a two minute sprint away, and she was already soaked to her underwear.

She chortled and slowed to a walk. Tony would have a thing or two to say about her and wet underwear.

He looked over his shoulder, gave her a quizzical look and slowed down. "What are you doing?"

She laughed, shrugged and held up her hands. "What are _you_ doing?"

He came to a stop and looked pissed for a moment, then glanced down at his suit, then back at her and cracked up pulling the soaked shirt from his skin.

She walked up to him, enjoying the refreshing rain on her sticky skin. It would be no fun in the car, but for now, it felt divine. Looking around the park, she wondered if this was what the plants felt like.

He interrupted her thoughts with a light touch to her arm. "You know what this reminds me of?"

She smiled, if he had said that line five minutes ago she would have wanted to deck him. Now that the dark cloud that had hung over them all day had burst, she decided to play along. "Singing in the rain?"

His brows shot upward, then he chuckled. "That was too easy."

A particularly strong gust of wind pelted them with rain from the side, and blew a stray strand of hair in her face. Before she had a chance to tuck it behind her ear—fixing her ponytail in this weather would be a lost cause—his fingers slowly caressed it out of the way.

Their eyes met and all their previous animosity washed away in a torrential flood of swirling emotions. He smiled gently as his thumb caressed her cheek, and then, like a stroke of lightning he smiled his thousand-watt smile, the one that meant he was up to no good and made all her nerve endings tingle. He lowered his hand and began singing, quietly at first, then louder to drown out the rain.

She covered her mouth with her hand to hide the giggle that erupted at the cliché song. Encouraged, he grabbed hold of her other hand and pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her and swaying side to side to the silent music.

Puddles were forming in the grass—the dry ground incapable of swallowing the downpour—as he twirled her and dipped her and pulled her close.

So close.

He stopped singing, eyes boring into hers, bearing his soul, before he dipped his head and captured her mouth with his.

A flood of emotions flowed through her, drowning out all thought, her arm anchoring around his neck, keeping him with her. The rushing of blood in her ears muffled the rainstorm, as wet lips sucked and caressed and demanded more, so much more.

He pulled back, she kept her eyes closed still feeling his lips on hers, and inhaled deeply, the smell of the summer rain and trees and grass all around them bringing her back to the present. He was staring at her intently, eyes darker than the clouds above them, equally ready to pour out what they had been holding in for so long.

"That's one out of three," he said never breaking eye contact.

"One out of three?" She felt a little drunk. _Was this another movie reference?_

His gaze briefly drifted to her mouth. "The big three, remember?"

She racked her brains, and then her chest clenched, reliving that evening in the bullpen when he brought her the opera. Tears threatened to spill over remembering the gesture and she was grateful the rain would hide any evidence of away, she steadied her breathing before meeting his eyes again, this time certain only raindrops would roll down her cheeks.

"Two out of three, actually," she said steadily, smiling warmly.

He tilted his head, a flicker of recognition flashed through his eyes, and he touched his forehead to hers for a moment. He withdrew enough to meet her gaze, then gave her a mischievous smile. "I have gum in my pocket, does that count as a picnic?"

She burst out laughing, feeling lighter than she had in a long time. " _I_ will take care of the picnic."

He chuckled, placed a kiss on her forehead, and said, "I look forward to it."

Mesmerized by the raindrops dangling and falling from his eyelashes, she placed a hand on his cheek, feeling like a desert flower opening after an eternal drought. She pulled his head down and kissed him tenderly as the rain washed away all the time they had wasted, a promise of a new beginning.


	16. Basketball

Today's prompt: Sports

Tony and Ziva banter with Tiva undertones. (Wasn't going to write today, ended up ignoring myself like I know I shouldn't, so, meh)

* * *

The basketball thumped on the ground, his right hand bouncing it in one spot, his left arm keeping one of the other three men on the court from reaching for it.

"Come on, DiNozzo," a guy in a striped shirt yelled.

He barely paid the man any attention, still shielding the ball from the guy breathing down his neck. She could see beads of sweat pearling down his face, hair sticking up oddly—she smiled despite herself—his sports shirt drenched. She questioned his sanity for playing sports in the hot midday sun.

Gibbs would chew her out for taking so long to find him, but the scene playing out before her was too stimulating to interrupt. Narrowing her eyes she focused on how his muscles strained with effort, how his strong yet slender hand expertly handled the basketball. She licked her lips and bit her bottom lip; she had fantasized plenty about his hands, now was not the time to get into that, though.

With a speed and agility she rarely got to witness—but always managed to make her heart thump—he broke away from the guy trying to steal the ball, and scored. He caught the ball on its way out of the hoop, and bounced it from one hand to the other with ease, smiling widely.

She clapped, finally getting his attention, and his smile widened even more.

"Ziva?"

He walked up to her dribbling the ball.

" _That's_ your partner?" The man in the red shirt said, then whistled.

Tony turned and shot the ball at him with more force than necessary.

"We have a case," she said apologetically. "You were not answering your phone so Gibbs sent me."

"Yeah, the guys dumped my phone in a bucket of water before the game."

The three men were staring at her still, and she decided to stare right back. "Are these your frat brothers?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah, we haven't gotten together in forever."

The guy in the red shirt looked away uncomfortably, the one in the striped shirt started fidgeting with the hem of his shorts.

Tony turned his attention to her. "Stop scaring my buddies, Ziva."

She glanced at him, his teeth shone in the bright sunlight, his eyes danced with mirth. She snorted, then said, "I am sorry to break up your game."

He shrugged. "That last point put us in the lead, and I was about to keel over from the heat, anyway."

Wiping his brow with the hem of his shirt, her eyes drifted to his exposed stomach. He caught her staring, and smirked.

"Should probably shower first," he said when she finally met his eyes.

"You should." She looked him up and down slowly. "You are sweating like a sinner in church."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Where did you pick up that phrase?"

"I will wait for you in the car," she said with an enigmatic smile before walking away.

"Are you speaking from experience? Ziva?"

She resisted the urge to turn and look at him, chuckling lightly.

"Does it have to do with what you did in that weapons carrier?" He added teasingly.

She slapped her butt and kept walking, his laughter spreading warmth through her body like the sun never could. Perhaps working on a Saturday wasn't going to be that bad after all.


	17. Summer Fling

Today's prompt: summer vacation, inspired by gingerstorm101 suggestion of having them run into each other while on vacation.

Tiva, don't let the title fool you, you know my titles are the worst, also, this needed a heck of a lot more work, but it's already tomorrow, wait, no, it's today, but technically it's still yesterday somewhere, supposedly time isn't linear so heck if I know, anyway, this is day 17 which should've been posted the 18th.

* * *

"Tony, what are you doing here?"

His heart skipped a beat hearing the voice he'd missed all week. Sure, they had texted, but it wasn't the same. He turned around, and realized how much he'd missed seeing her. She was all smiles, and warm eyes, wearing a wide-brim hat and a blue bikini that made his heart beat a little faster.

"I thought you were spending your summer vacation in Florida?"

He scoffed. "I was, until Senior called…"

Her mouth formed an O, then a sympathetic smile. He could see the questions in her eyes, but knew she wouldn't ask them. Not yet, anyway.

"What brings you to the East Coast?" He pointed at the beach bag. "Other than the obvious."

"We're not on call this weekend, and Gibbs let us leave early." She shrugged. "Southampton seemed like a nice place to get away."

Tony glanced at the beach behind him, he had come here to think over his dad's latest financial deal—and how he had gotten sucked into the middle of it—but he had to admit it was a nice place to relax and enjoy the view. He let his eyes rove over Ziva's body, deciding the view had improved considerably.

He took in her amused expression and decided some time spent with a close friend was what he needed to clear his head. "Mind if I join you?" He smiled and nodded at the beach.

She narrowed her eyes at him, he suddenly didn't like his odds, but then she smiled widely and hooked her arm in his, leading him to a fairly quiet spot on the beach. Removing a beach towel and book from her bag, she asked, "You didn't bring a towel?"

He watched her spread out the towel, and stretch out on it on her side, opening the book. Maybe she would've preferred to be here by herself, he thought, then remembered she was the one who dragged him here. He sat down, then leaned back on his elbows, looking at the ocean waves.

"Nah, I figured I'd go for a stroll, pick up a summer fling." He locked eyes with her and waggled his eyebrows. The sparkle and gleam in her eyes sent a tingle down his spine. She let out a derisive huff, but the corners of her eyes crinkled, revealing she was only humoring him.

He could tell she was dying to know what happened between him and Senior. The fact that she didn't push him, made him love her even more.

His heart stopped and he held his breath, unsure how to deal with that realization.

When Ziva frowned at him, he briefly feared he had blabbed his thoughts out loud. His mind raced for a way to deflect his thoughts.

"You know the sun can be deceptively dangerous before noon, you should really wear sunscreen."

She smirked and closed the book, then stared at him provocatively. "You are merely looking for an excuse to run your hands all over me."

His eyes went wide and jaw dropped, as his thoughts did a 180 from love to lust. He half-smirked, the thought hadn't occurred to him, but now, running his hands over her smooth skin was all he could think of.

He was certain she had been teasing, until she dug into her beach bag, casually threw the sunscreen his way and flipped onto her front, gathering her hair and exposing her back to him. His heart raced as his eyes unabashedly took her in, pushing away the memories the faded scars brought back.

Her eyes were closed, but he could clearly see some tension around her eyes and lips. He smiled softly, amazed at how much she trusted him to have her back. Literally.

"This will be a bit cold," he warned, squirting sunscreen in the palm of his hand.

She hummed as he gently massaged the lotion into her shoulders, and tension left her body. He worked his way down slowly, meticulously, protecting every bare inch of her body against the sun.

"Where are you staying?" He kept an eye on her expression as his hands moved from the small of her back to the exposed skin of her shapely butt.

She licked her lips and cleared her throat. He grinned and ran his hands over her butt again, more firmly this time, before moving on to the back of her thighs.

"A B&B," she said with a slightly smoky voice.

His grin widened when she bit her bottom lip as his fingers lightly caressed the soft, sensitive skin on the back of her knees. "How would you like to stay in a beach house instead?"

She raised herself on her forearms and looked at him over her shoulder, asking the questions she had refrained from asking earlier with nothing but a look.

"You're looking at the co-owner of a beach house, thanks to one Anthony DiNozzo Sr."

She quirked an eyebrow, he sighed. "I'll tell you over dinner."

Her other eyebrow raised at his assumption that they would be dining together, and he chuckled. "Don't give me that, your curiosity will get the better of you and you know it."

She chuckled and lay back down, and he applied sunscreen to her muscular calves. "Perhaps if you play your cards right, you will find a summer fling, after all," she said with a lilt.

His hands stilled on her ankles, stomach aflutter. He scrutinized her face, the mischievous smile on her lips emboldened his next move. Running a hand from the small of her back to the nape of her neck, he lay down next to her on his side, fingers tangling in loose curls, her eyes slipping shut.

"To be honest, I'm more interested in a four seasons fling," he said softly.

She opened her eyes slowly, taking a moment before actually looking at him. They both had a lot riding on this, and he hoped he had made an educated gamble.

"I believe that is called a relationship."

"I honestly don't care what we call it, as long as it doesn't end when the summer does." His voice was husky, his heart in her hands.

Her lips parted, her eyes wide open windows to her soul. It took all his willpower not to kiss her passionately then and there, to crush her body to his. There would be time for that later, in private.

"Remind me to thank your father."

He frowned, the last thing on his mind right now was his dad.

She smiled softly. "For convincing you to change your vacation plans and come here instead."


	18. Peachy

Today's prompt: fruit - peach; requested by donutsdebsdibs inspired by one of MW's tweets.

Tiva, dripping with innuendo and sexual tension (at least, that was the intention)

* * *

From the corner of her eye she sees him reach for one of the peaches he had brought with him that morning. McGee had told him he should have brought apples if he wanted to be the teacher's pet, Tony had rambled on about going on a health kick to create a lean, mean "Sex Machine 2.0″. She huffs silently remembering the ridiculous conversation.

He leans back in his chair, holding the peach, rolling it around in his hand as if examining it. She narrows her eyes when he brings it up to his mouth. _That is not good, he will ruin his shirt._

He takes a bite, realizes his mistake as a few drops of juice drip down his chin. Swiping at them with his other hand, he leans forward over his desk, and takes another bite, slurping as peach juice flows from his chin freely. He cusses, tries to lick some of it up with his tongue.

Her eyes widen, and she sits up straighter. He takes a smaller bite, makes another slurping sound and moans, sending a wave of heat down her body. _That is not good at all, he is going to ruin my panties._ She bites the tip of her thumb as he licks juice running down the side of his hand

"Tony!" She barks, not even sure why, other than needing to distract herself.

He startles, makes an even bigger mess, and tries to stem the flow from his chin by swiping it with his fingers, then licking the juice off of them.

She clenches her thighs together. _This is even worse, why did he have to mention his nickname was "Sex Machine" earlier?_

He is staring at her now, expecting her to do or say something. Annoyed with herself for drawing his attention—he had gotten better at reading her the past few months and she hated it—she walks up to him and leans in close.

"Has nobody taught you how to eat a peach?"

He looks up at her, eyes blissfully unaware of what he is doing to her. She wants nothing more than to lick the juice from his lips, his chin, to push that mouth between her legs and hear him make those sounds... A single drop making its way down his jaw line distracts her, she licks her lips and bites down on her bottom lip.

"You are making a mess." It was true, of course; there was peach juice on his shirt, and all over the file on his desk. That isn't the mess that worries her, though.

He tilts his head, his eyes darken as realization obviously hits him, and he licks his lips again. That just messes her up even more.

"But it's so wet and juicy," he says in a low voice. He holds the peach in between them, locks eyes with her—eyes dripping with stories of how he got his nickname—and he continues, "And I like it messy."

Backing down is not in her nature, and everything about this situation is too sweet, too…juicy, to walk away from. She reaches for the drop that had made it down to his neck, sweeps it up, then sucks her thumb clean.

His eyes flow over with desire, and he puffs out a breath that caresses her face, making all her nerve endings sing and beg for more. He takes another bite, eyes never leaving hers. She thinks he is exaggerating the slurping noises, the licking, the moaning, but her senses are so on edge she cannot be certain.

He switches the half-eaten fruit to his other hand, and licks every strong, slender finger one by one. She recalls how she wished those fingers would stray between her legs when they were undercover a few months ago. The urge to still his hand and close her lips around those fingers is overwhelming, and she realizes just in time that they are, in fact, still in the bullpen.

A thrill runs through her, and she places her hands on the armrests of his chair, closing what little distance was left between them.

"Someone should teach you how to eat peaches properly." Her voice is honeyed, and his eyes sparkle as he nods imperceptibly.

"I have a lot more peaches at home." He bites his bottom lip. "Maybe you could show me the right way to eat—" his gaze drifts to her lips, then down the gaping collar of her shirt, "—peaches."

She grins as her eyes drift to his lips. _Oh, she would show him things that would make his "Sex Machine" alter ego blush._

The ding of the elevator precedes the return of Gibbs and McGee. Gibbs stops in front of Tony's desk. "What's going on here?"

"Nothing," Ziva replied.

"Everything's peachy, Boss."

Gibbs' stare prompted a further explanation, and Tony turned back to her.

"Ziva had some complaints about how I eat a peach."

He's looking straight at her when he says it, sending another rush of heat straight down to her core. Gibbs may have a rule about dating coworkers, but he has said nothing about having sex with them. "I was going to teach him a lesson," she says sweetly, and she can tell Tony is trying hard not to grin like an idiot.

Gibbs picks up the peach stained file form Tony's desk, and doesn't bother looking at her as he orders, "Back to your desk."

She stands up straight, already regretting the distance between her and Tony. He smirks and takes another bite, this time with considerably more manners. She slaps his cheek playfully and winks, before sauntering to her desk. _This is far from over._

"Do it again, DiNozzo," Gibbs says as he throws the smudged file at him.

"Love to, Boss," he replies as he locks eyes with Ziva once more.

"The file, DiNozzo!"


	19. Ferris Wheel

Today's prompt: Ferris wheel, and "Just pretend to be my date."

Tiva, was supposed to be fake dating fluff, turned significantly less fun because my writing was interrupted yesterday, and I had to finish the rest today while I was clearly in a different frame of mind.

* * *

Almost ten minutes had passed between Tony's text signaling his arrival to pick her up and her pulling the door closed behind her. During this time she had been trying to get away from her 85-year-old neighbor, Betty, without hurting the woman's feelings. A month ago the elderly woman got it into her head that Ziva and her grandson would make the perfect couple. Ziva was running out of excuses as to why that wouldn't work, without sharing information she did not want to share, or telling Betty to mind her own business.

Generally she preferred to tell the truth, often rather bluntly. Tony had called her out on not having any tact a few months ago. She glanced at her watch, he would probably torment her for running late for the rest of the day.

"And I already bought tickets for the Ferris wheel, oh it's just so romantic don't you think?"

Betty stared up at her, kind eyes behind gold rimmed glasses. Ziva had lost track of the conversation after telling her for the third time that her partner was waiting for her outside. Did Betty have a date? Now she felt bad for not paying attention.

"Um, yes, very romantic," Ziva agreed.

"Wonderful, I'll go get the tickets."

Betty disappeared back into her apartment, leaving Ziva behind with her mouth agape. What had she just agreed to? She checked her watch again, considered bolting for the stairs and later explaining that there had been an emergency at work, when the elevator doors slid open and Tony walked out.

She signaled him to come closer faster, glancing inside the apartment suspiciously.

"I thought you'd fallen down the elevator shaft or something," he said with a crooked smile.

She looked at him blankly, briefly forgetting the new plan that had formed in her head. "So you took the elevator even though it might crush me," she deadpanned.

A drawer slamming shut, and shuffling coming from the apartment, brought her back to her current predicament.

Tony's smirk faded as his eyes narrowed. "What's the hold-up?"

She grabbed him by the tie so she could whisper in his ear. "Just pretend to be my date."

Betty walked out with an exuberant, "I found them," at that very moment. Ziva turned to look at her, her cheek now firmly pressed against Tony's, feeling her face flush and wondering how she had survived years as a Mossad officer, only to be thwarted by an 85-year-old with a blue rinse.

Tony snaked an arm around her middle and kissed her temple. As the touch of his soft lips lingered, she had the sneaking suspicion she was going to regret this charade.

Betty's face fell for a split second, then her hands, holding two tickets, clenched before her chest as she regarded them affectionately. "Oh, sweetie, why didn't you tell me you meant boyfriend when you said partner?"

"Ziva doesn't like labels," Tony chimed in before she had a chance to reply, making her hackles rise. She was definitely going to regret this.

"She also doesn't like PDA, thinks it's embarrassing," he stage whispered at Betty from behind his hand.

Ziva narrowed her eyes at him, and he surprised her with a kiss on the lips. Her lips kissed him back seemingly on their own volition, and she was really regretting this now, because the kiss was over in a matter of seconds. Because he would never kiss her again as soon as they said goodbye to Betty. Because never feeling his lips again was something she didn't even want to consider.

She licked her lips self-consciously after he pulled away, then looked at Betty apologetically.

"Oh, I'm so happy you have someone to share your life with, sweetie, that's all I wanted." Betty beamed at her. "And look at you," she cooed, patting Tony's cheek with the flat of her hand. "You look so in love." She turned her attention back to Ziva. "It's been a long time since anyone's looked at me the way he looks at you."

Ziva caught Tony glance at her and swallow hard, before letting out an uncomfortable chuckle. What was that about? Tony was one of the best at maintaining his cover, why was he slipping?

Betty thrust the tickets into Ziva's hands, made them both promise to go that night and wished them a wonderful romance filled evening.

They walked into the elevator in silence. She glanced at the tickets, felt bad for lying to Betty, then glanced at Tony, and felt even worse for opening a can of worms she thought she had locked away for good.

"I can't believe someone calls you sweetie and gets away with it," Tony said, lips twitching into a smile.

She rolled her eyes, mind hard at work shoving the memory of what those lips felt like back into the compartment it never should have left. Especially not now.

"She is kind, and she made me feel at home when I moved in here," Ziva defended herself.

The soft expression on his face made her nervous, so she looked away and busied herself with tucking away the two tickets that would go unused.

"Don't lose those."

"Why?" She eyed the floor indicator, wondered whether the elevator was always this slow.

"Because we'll need them later, for our romance-filled evening." He tilted his head. "I always thought Ferris wheel rides were really romantic."

She frowned, was this payback for pulling him into this situation. Rubbing her earlobe, she looked away and laughed quickly, feeling trapped in the small box that may as well have stopped moving all together now.

And it did when he flicked the emergency switch, the metal scraping of the elevators breaks making her muscles twitch. She needed some time, and distance between them to be able to fall back on their usual banter and reign in her emotions.

He offered neither when he stepped closer and placed his hands on her cheeks. She had an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach; after returning to America she had avoided any kind of relationship, still dealing with trust issues. A year ago she would have relished the thought of him getting back at her like this, now it left her nauseous and on the verge of a panic attack.

His touch became feathery light, hands barely there, his thumbs brushing her cheeks, helping her step away from the edge she was teetering on.

He kissed her softly, fleetingly.

"What was that?" She asked hoarsely.

His eyes clouded with pain. He smiled sadly as his hands fell to his sides. "Well, if you have to ask, it can't have been very good."

She frowned, reading him while her own emotions were all over the place was impossible.

"Wrong time, wrong place." He shrugged uncomfortably. "I guess stuck in an elevator is nowhere near as romantic as stuck in a gondola on a warm moonlit night."

She rubbed her forehead, he didn't appear to be mocking her, but then why was he...

He flicked the emergency switch and the elevator resumed its descend while he stared at the metal door and clenched his jaw.

She blinked rapidly and shook her head, "What are you saying?"

He scoffed, and this time his tone did turn sarcastic. "Who even knows, I like the sound of my own voice, remember?"

His words stung like a slap in the face. All she wanted to do was get off this emotional roller coaster and out of this cage, but the way his shoulders slumped told her there was more at stake.

She touched his forearm, silently imploring him to look at her. When he finally did, briefly, he let out that uncomfortable chuckle from earlier in the hallway, before glancing away.

He fussed with his tie and met her gaze again. "I guess I got carried away." A self-deprecating smile on his lips, he continued, "You know me and undercover relationships."

She tensed realizing he hadn't been trying to antagonize her at all. Unsure of how to deal with the emotions that seemed to be bouncing off the walls of the small elevator cab she looked away. How did she go from trying to avoid a romantic relationship with her neighbor's grandson, to her partner—the man who she had given up on being anything more than that years ago—basically admitting he did in fact want more.

The elevator came to a stop and a cold fear gripped her heart. If she let him walk out now, she would always wonder…

A touch on his arm stopped him dead in his tracks. He looked down at her, hurt, embarrassed.

"I…" She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head slightly. Her hand slipped from his arm to his hand, gripping it tightly while trying to gather her thoughts, her feelings, and the right words to stop this from ruining their friendship, and whatever else they could have.

"Ziva," he said softly, ready to dismiss whatever she had to say.

"No, just…" She looked up at him, and bit her bottom lip. He had that guarded look in his eyes, the one she had seen before, the one that had made her build her own walls just a little bit higher. But that was then, and now her walls were nothing more than a pile of rubble she tried to hide behind, pretending nothing had changed. Pretending she hadn't changed.

How could she tell him how she felt when she was not ready to act on those feelings. He had already done so much for her, she could not ask him to be patient while she figured out her new life.

He had told her once that her eyes wouldn't shut up. She prayed that was the case now, that he could make some sense of the ugly mess her life had turned into, but that she cared for him deeply despite it all.

The curtain of caution that had covered his eyes lifted, and he nodded slightly, a soft smile on his lips.

She drew in a shaky breath, relieved that, for now, they would be okay. He lifted her hand to his face and gently kissed it, a promise in his eyes. Her heart raced and she felt a lightness, a boldness, that she had not felt in months.

Digging into her bag blindly with her free hand, eyes never straying from his, she pulled out the tickets. "I am not sure the night will be…filled with romance…" She shrugged slightly glancing away.

Taking one of the tickets, his thumb drew circles on her hand. "It will be whatever it will be."

A sense of calm washed over her, whatever happened in the past, whatever would happen in the future, they were going to be okay.

He gave her hand another squeeze, winked, and pressed the button to open the elevator doors. "Just so you know, I'm totally throwing you under the bus if Gibbs complains that we're late."


	20. Heat Wave

Today's prompt: heat wave, and mama's-broken-heart request from this list: "You're so intoxicating to me." and "That was barely even a kiss! Do it again - please?"

Tiva, Tony and Ziva trying to deal with a heat wave at her apartment after work.

(better than last night's Jekyll and Hyde monstrosity, which to me felt like I duct taped two different stories together and slapped a title on it...its only saving grace in my eyes is that it got me writing and posting again)

* * *

A half uneaten pizza lay on the table, and it didn't look like either of them would work up the energy to finish it in the oppressing heat. Tony took it upon himself to get up and put it in the fridge. Lingering in front of the opened refrigerator, he wondered why he hadn't thought of this sooner. A raised eyebrow made him close the door—it was her electricity bill he was increasing, after all.

Walking over to the opened window, he blew a puff of air over his face and pulled at the undershirt sticking to his sweaty skin.

"We can go out onto the terrace." She had silently slid up next to him, her bare arm briefly brushing his.

Tony glanced out the window at the slim platform protruding from the wall. "That's barely even a balcony."

She gave him that Mona Lisa smile that always made his temperature rise, and disappeared out the window. Sticking his head outside he watched her move up the ladder leading to the kitchen roof with ease. "Come on up, there's a nice breeze here."

He stepped onto the balcony, testing whether it would hold his weight, one hand holding on to the ladder attached to the wall. A peek across the railing had his stomach trying to crawl out of his throat. He closed his eyes and took a few slow breaths.

"Tony?"

He gazed upwards and saw her staring down at him, loose curls framing her face and blocking out the moonlight. She really shouldn't lean over the roof edge that far, she was going to get herself killed.

Determined not to give in to his fear of heights, he grabbed the ladder, knuckles turning white, and started climbing. She reached out her hand to pull him onto the roof and he gladly took it. Her gaze followed him as he moved away from the edge and sat down on a cushion, waiting for the lightheadedness to fade.

"Should we be up here?" He looked around, other than two cushions this didn't resemble a roof terrace, at all.

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you thinking about having to climb down again?"

His heart stopped, and his stomach let itself know again. "I am now," he said gruffly.

Her chuckle drifted freely on the breeze, and he had to admit, that did feel good. He had stripped to his underwear earlier, the suit and tie he had worn to work lay discarded on her bed. She had insisted it was ridiculous to remain dressed like that in a heatwave. He hadn't resisted, and had watched her strip down to panties and a tank top with interest, blaming the rush of heat he felt on the heatwave.

A furtive glance to his right put her tanned, toned legs right into focus. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly; he'd scale any height for her.

"I heard heatwaves make people horny," she said casually.

His eyes went wide as he made eye contact; there was nothing casual about the predatory look on her face. "People in general, or…"

The way her dark eyes drifted all over his body told him everything he needed to know. They had gotten a lot closer lately, almost kissed a few days ago if they hadn't been interrupted at work. Which would've been a disappointing place for a first kiss, he mused. A moonlit rooftop on the other hand…

He stood up, so caught up in drinking in the sight of her, all relaxed and barely dressed, the moon her own private spotlight, that he had forgotten his fear of heights. Closing the distance between them, he brushed a hand against hers, before letting his fingers slide up her arm languidly, then brushing soft, thick curls from her shoulder, exposing her neck and collar bone.

His mouth went dry and he licked his lips. "You're so intoxicating to me."

A mischievous smile spread on her lips. "That might actually be car fumes from the street below."

His smile faded at the reminder that they were on a roof, four stories high, and he glanced to the side, judging their distance from the edge. Her throaty laugh worked like a magnet, pulling his mind back to her.

Looking down at her, leaning against the wall, her legs between his, he was reminded of that moment in the office staircase a few days ago. When his lips had been inches from hers before they were so rudely interrupted by the janitor.

He grinned, there was nothing and no one to interrupt them now. Tracing the outline of her neck with a finger, he watched her wet her lips in anticipation, setting off a whirlwind of butterflies in his stomach. His fingers tangled in her hair as his other hand slipped to her waist, and he struggled not to devour her then and there, memories of their first, frantic undercover kiss drifting through his mind.

Nuzzling her nose, giving her ample time to change her mind, his hand slipped from her waist to her hip, fingers gripping her tightly. He bent down, brushed his lips against hers, and felt his control slip as soon her tongue darted out and ran over his bottom lip.

He backed off, stood up straighter, bit his bottom lip as he took her in once more. Her eyes were all-consuming, like a heatwave in the middle of the desert with no place to hide.

She pouted, then, sending a shockwave down to his core. Up until that moment, the mere thought of Ziva David pouting had never even occurred to him. She had asked casually, threatened, cajoled with a sultry smile, she had never pouted.

Her fingers gripped at his shirt, pulling him closer, then fully against her as she moved to stand up on her tiptoes and wrap her arms around his neck. "That was barely even a kiss!"

Her face scrunched up, and he challenged himself then and there to catalog every facial expression he could evoke from now on.

She pouted again, her eyes presenting a completely different challenge. "Do it again - please?"

If she had asked him to jump off the roof in that voice, with those eyes, he would have seriously considered it. Judging by the way she pushed her hips into him she had other plans for him, thankfully.

Incapable of resisting her plea, he pushed her against the wall and crushed his mouth to hers. Teasing her lips open, deepening the kiss, she moaned into his mouth and pressed her chest into him. The lightheadedness he felt now had nothing to do with his fear of heights, and he chased that high, running a hand over her behind roughly, eliciting another moan from her.

The breeze that brought relief from the heat, also reminded him they were out in public, in plain view of all the surrounding buildings. It wasn't until she wrapped a leg around him, and whispered in his ear everything she wanted to do to him that night, that he realized they needed to take this heatwave back inside before they finally melted together.


	21. Beach Body

Today's prompt: 'I told you we shouldn't have gone to the beach'

Team at a crime scene, inspired by some TV show about mysterious deaths.

Many thanks for the reviews, follows, favorites,... they all encourage me to keep going.

* * *

He shook his leg in a vain attempt to rid his shoe of sand. Realizing he would have to endure the unwanted foot scrub until they finished processing the crime scene, he grumbled, "I hate how sand gets everywhere."

"Ha!" Ziva gave him a look that told him he didn't know what he was talking about.

In the span of ten seconds, his mind wandered to half a dozen scenarios that all ended with Ziva brushing tiny granules from her sweaty skin.

"We all have sand in our shoes, Tony," McGee said flatly.

He shifted his gaze from Ziva to his other partner. "I told you we shouldn't have gone to the beach, not dressed like this."

McGee crossed his arms and smirked. "Was that before you started doing sit-ups, or after you were done filming yourself removing your sunglasses ten different ways?"

"I didn't do any sit-ups," Tony bit back, making a mental note to delete the video in question.

"You were thinking about it," Ziva chimed in with a knowing smile. She playfully patted his stomach, then walked to the other side of the corpse, and resumed taking pictures.

"Nothing wrong with wanting to work on your beach body," Tony said, self-consciously sucking in his stomach.

Gibbs glared at him. "How about working on the body on the beach.

"Uh, the truck is his," McGee said pointing his notepad at the dead body. "Witnesses say they found the body underneath the truck."

"Someone dumped his body and decided to hide it underneath the car?" Ziva asked, then snapped a picture of Tony just as he rolled his eyes.

"Yes, because there's nothing suspicious about a big truck in the middle of an abandoned beach." He narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm beginning to think Mossad is not all it's cracked up to be."

She glared and stuck out her tongue. From the corner of his eye he saw Gibbs clench his jaw.

Ducky saved them when he sent Palmer to get the gurney, and turned to Gibbs. "I can't tell for certain until after the autopsy, of course, but it would appear the poor man drowned several feet away from the high tide."

"So the seaman met a watery grave on dry land," Tony said gravely, then removed his sunglasses with flair.

Ziva tilted her head, then pointed the camera at him. "If you remove your glasses like the sixth time you filmed yourself earlier, you might get a job at CSI Miami."

"None of you will have a job at NCIS if you don't get to work," Gibbs said flatly.


	22. Stargazing

Today's prompt: stargazing

Tony and Ziva during a night out. Reference to Tony's bucket list (11. watch all Hitchcock films in order of release)

* * *

When she opens the door to the parking lot, she finds him leaning on the roof of his car, seemingly lost in thought. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, a tuft of hair stands up from his otherwise still perfectly coiffed hair. She walks out towards him, the midnight breeze that caresses her skin brings some relief from the sweatiness of the crowded bar. A car with steamed up windows draws her attention, and she can't help but feel a tingle go down her spine as she focuses on Tony again, wondering…

She bumps him with her hip when she reaches him, drawing his attention, but not his gaze, and leans back against his car.

"Did you find your wallet?"

He nods and pats his back pocket, her gaze lingers a moment longer than her sober mind would have allowed. She squints up at him, his mood seems to have shifted once again. Going out for drinks had been his idea, now she has a feeling he is lost in thought, like he had been on and off for several days.

Making sure to keep her tone light and casual, she asks, "What are you doing?"

"Stargazing."

She scoffs. "In the middle of D.C.?"

"That's a star," he says, pointing at a light in the otherwise dark sky.

"That is clearly a plane." She stares him down, and even though he doesn't face her, she can tell he is about to give in.

"Just, thinking." He glances at her, then resumes staring at the dark and empty firmament.

"About?" She prods gently.

He really looks at her now, eyes narrow slits. "What, no 'Don't hurt yourself jokes'?"

She gives him a sympathetic look, hoping he will continue talking, not trusting herself to ask the right questions just this minute.

His focus strays to the dark sky once more, brows pulling in. "Life, and…things."

"Things, like your bucket list?"

He glances at her, nods slightly, lips pursed.

"Ooh, there's a star." He points at another blinking dot.

"You have better luck of that being a UFO and getting yourself abducted." She grins at him, he grins back and turns around to lean his back against the car, mimicking her posture.

"I'd hate to explain _that_ to Gibbs," he says lightly.

"Hmm, and Abby would not let you out of her sight for weeks." She leans into him, relieved she can blame that on her fourth shot of tequila. "If you need help with your bucket list…"

His gaze searches hers and she is not quite sure what he is hoping to find. The wisp of unruly hair distracts her and before she realizes what she is doing, her hand is running through his hair, attempting to fix it back into place.

His eyes darken, but he remains silent. She glances at his mouth, and self-consciously drops her hand, the touch of his soft hair lingering on her finger tips.

It takes her a moment to remember their conversation. "I would be happy to watch all Hitchcock movies with you, if you like."

He smiles, amused, intrigued. "You would do that for me?"

She shrugs lightly. "It is a win-win, if they are not as good as you claim I will hold it over you forever, and if they are, then I will have enjoyed watching them."

He chuckles, "Deal."

They remain silent for a moment, her alcohol induced mind pointing out that spending who knows how many hours glued to his side on the couch would make it a win-win-win situation. She is not quite drunk enough to share that particular thought with him, but too drunk to suppress the giggle leaving her lips.

In an attempt to distract his probing gaze, she holds up a hand to block out a street light. "There—" she points at the sky, "—that is a star."

"Sure is," he says, never taking his eyes off of her.


	23. Mosquitoes

Today's prompt: mosquitoes

Established Tiva.

* * *

The buzzing was driving him insane. One obnoxious little bloodsucker landed on his arm and he slapped it, wiping its tiny corpse away with disgust.

Ziva looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "There's one on your cheek."

He slapped his cheek, then narrowed his eyes at Ziva as she pursed her lips in an effort not to laugh.

"It was the other cheek, actually, but it's gone now."

He rolled his eyes, he had enough of being a personal blood bank to a swarm of mosquitoes. More buzzing on his left, he waved frantically at a bug he couldn't even see. His neck itched, then his elbow, his jawline, his…everything.

He cussed. "Why aren't they bothering you?"

Ziva smirked, and looked him up and down. "You always say you are a magnet for women."

Swatting at two uninvited diners on his arm, he said, "What does that have to do with anything?"

She stepped into his personal space, face inches from his. "Only the females bite."

The buzzing nuisance momentarily forgotten, he locked eyes with her and grinned. "So you have something else in common besides being a pain in the ass."

She scrunched up her face the way he loved, and he couldn't stop a throaty chuckle from leaving his lips.

"I never draw blood," she said with a glint in her eyes, and kissed a mosquito bite on his jawline, "and I always kiss and make it better."


	24. Balmy

Undercover fake dating.

* * *

Her skin was slick and warm underneath his hands, sweet and pulsing underneath his lips as they moved down her neck. She angled her head, offering up more vulnerable skin, and his heart fluttered, getting lost in the sensation of holding her so close as water gently rocked against their bodies.

Her lips and breath against his ear sent a tingle down his spine, then she whispered, "They are using some kind of sign language."

He froze for a second, realized she hadn't offered anything up and had simply wanted to get a better look at the suspected buyer. It wasn't the first time he had gotten caught up in his undercover role as a newlywed. If he couldn't find a way to keep his head in the game the whole operation could be a bust.

Placing a few more kisses on her neck, he glanced at Petty Officer Smith who appeared to be reading a book. He squinted from behind aviator glasses and ran his fingers through Ziva's wet curls absentmindedly, as he tracked Smith's every move.

Water droplets on her shoulder begged for his attention. As his mind battled between indulging his desires and concentrating on the job at hand, his mouth twitched upwards.

"This is one undercover op I don't mind dragging out," he murmured into her ear, before making eye contact. "Five-star hotel, swimming pool, balmy weather, a beautiful woman."

She raised an eyebrow, and he quickly glanced around, keeping half an eye on Smith while she observed the buyer at the opposite side of the pool. "I meant women, plural," he quickly covered.

Touching her lips to his, she murmured, "You have barely looked at any woman since our arrival."

Smith once again all but forgotten at the lightest touch of her lips, he grinned and said, "It's not professional to look at other women in the middle of a make-out session."

Her throaty laughter made his knees weak. He cupped her face, the glint of his gold wedding band reminding him none of this was real. None of it except how she made him feel.

She scoffed lightly. "I don't think I made out this much with Ray the whole time we were together."

The subject of Ray had always given him mixed feelings. He focused on the petty officer in the lounge chair, wondering how to react. "Ah, the downside of a long-distance relationship with a scheming CIA operative, not enough canoodling."

Her lack of reaction drew his attention; maybe she got lost in translation, again. The wistful look on her face told him differently. "Any complaints about the undercover canoodling?" He asked lightly, hoping to take her mind of the past.

Her gaze ping ponged between him and the buyer, and she began to fidget, drumming her fingers on his triceps. "No."

The way her brows pulled in it was obvious there was more to it. "But?"

She sighed and closed her eyes briefly. "It is…distracting."

"That good or bad?" He knew the professional answer, he was hoping for a personal one.

"Being distracted on the job is never good, Tony," she chided gently. The conviction in her voice didn't match the warmth in her eyes. "Perhaps we should talk about…this, some time."

She glanced at the suspect, then shifted her gaze back to him. His eyes wandered to her mouth as her arms snaked around his neck. "When the job is done," she murmured against his lips.

His hands slipped down to cup her behind and pull her against him, as his mouth claimed hers and he let go of the desire he had been struggling to keep in check. There was nothing fake about the way she kissed him back with abandon.

When his hips thrust against her, craving more contact, he came to his senses and broke the kiss. They couldn't afford to get this distracted again. He bit his bottom lip, finally leveling his breathing. "I can't wait for this job to be over," he said with a lewd smile.

She laughed that throaty laugh again and hugged him close, looking over his shoulder, as every nerve ending in his body tingled pleasantly. His mind drifted to all the things he wanted to do to her, while his gaze drifted to the petty officer who hadn't moved from his chair.

A disappointed sigh in his ear. "The buyer is leaving." A kiss on his cheek. "I will notify McGee."

"Yeah, let's go," he said as his hands slid up to her waist, and turned her around to walk out of the pool in front of him.

"It is just a phone call, Tony." She looked at him over her shoulder, then glanced down suggestively. "Perhaps you should swim a few laps to get rid of that extra energy."


	25. Lord of the S'mores

Today's prompt: um, I forgot to copy/bookmark, but it was along the lines of someone boasting about their s'mores making skills and then failing miserably.

Takes place the summer after Ziva became an American citizen, and Gibbs decided to invite the team over for a barbecue. Kind of a follow-up to day 9 - Independence Day, but I kept the references vague, so no need to read that one if you don't want to.

Thank you all for your continued support, despite the spotty posting schedule I had to fall back on.

* * *

"You're doing it all wrong," he said, feigning offense as he snatched the crackers and bar of chocolate from her hands.

" _You_ are going to tell me how to prepare food?" She scoffed.

"Making s'mores is not _preparing food_ , Ziva."

She raised an eyebrow at his use of air quotes, but kept quiet.

"It requires skill and dedication, it is art, science, a -"

"How can it be art _and_ science?" McGee asked smugly.

"Shut up, Probie, I'm Lord of the s'mores." He faced her once more. "Do you want me to teach you how to make s'mores, or not?"

She snorted, enjoying the dramatic flair he sometimes unleashed to entertain his friends. Glancing at said friends, taking in their smiling, relaxed expressions—too much food and laughter will have that effect—she said with gravitas, "Enlighten me, oh Lord."

He huffed as the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "That's more like it."

The warm feeling of finally having found a home, not just a place to live and leave at a moment's notice, was only solidified by his over-the-top side-eye. She smiled widely, not caring who noticed.

Turning to her he held up the cracker and bar of chocolate. "Your chocolate to cracker ratio is way off."

She barely contained a pout. "But I love chocolate."

"That's because you're sweet—" his eyes went wide, "—tooth, you have a sweet tooth."

Abby snorted from the other side of the fire. "Nice save, Tony."

Ziva narrowed her eyes, laughter tugging at the corners of her lips, and pointed a skewered marshmallow at his face. "If you ever call me sweet I will roast you like a marshmallow."

Happiness radiated from his eyes at their new found banter. "Ha, in front of a team of federal agents, good luck getting away with that."

Gibbs broke his hour-long silence, and deadpanned, "I didn't see anything."

Laughter broke out around the fire, and she bit her bottom lip at the look of mock-betrayal on his face. He whisked away the skewer and held it over the fire, then returned the cracker and chocolate to her. She broke off a smaller piece of chocolate and held it up for his approval.

"You're a fast learner, padawan," he said solemnly.

The unknown nickname barely registered as she got lost in his glowing eyes, their color shifting with the flickering flames. The crackling of the fire and muted words in the background only intensified her sense of belonging.

"Hey, Lord of the s'mores," McGee said, breaking the spell. "Your marshmallow is on fire."


	26. Changes

Today's prompt: mowing the lawn

Established Tiva, fluff. Gibbs fell down the stairs, broke a few bones and refused to stay in the hospital, the team helps him settle in at home.

* * *

Pivoting on the rear wheel, he turned the lawn mower to take care of the last stretch of grass, and saw her watching him from the porch, leaning casually against one of the posts. She smiled sadly and took a swig of the beer she was holding. Returning a smile, he finished the task at hand, grateful Gibbs' lawn was relatively small, then left the mower to be cleaned later.

She handed him the beer as he stepped onto the porch besides her. He drained the bottle and smacked his lips. She raised her eyebrows and sent him an amused smile.

"I did not know you knew how to mow a lawn."

"Senior cut off my allowance one summer." He looked at her sideways. "Amazing how much money you can make when you're young, sweaty and shirtless."

She smiled knowingly. "I bet you got more than money."

"Oh yeah," he laughed and looked at her. "I almost got beat up by a girl's father when he found both of us, shirtless and sweaty, in the garden shed."

Entwining their fingers, she grabbed hold of his upper arm with her other hand and leaned her head against his shoulder. Mowing the lawn had drained most of the adrenaline from his body, feeling her close, holding on to him, drained whatever stress was left from finding Gibbs unconscious at the bottom of the basement stairs earlier.

"Did he send you out here to check on my handy work?" He said lightly.

She chuckled and kissed his shoulder through his sleeve. "There's nothing wrong with your handy work."

He smiled and squeezed her hand, warmth tingling throughout his body.

A sliver of worry appeared in her eyes. "He is too out of it from the painkillers, I doubt he even heard you were out here," she continued, then looked up at him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said and kissed her forehead without a second thought.

She stared at him, a dozen questions swirling in her eyes. For a second he wished he could go back to the mindless task of mowing the lawn and not having to think about anything.

He sighed heavily. "Things are gonna change for a while, until he comes back to work." His stomach rolled when he saw his own thought reflected in her eyes. _If he comes back._

Gibbs wouldn't retire voluntarily—not again—but with a long recovery ahead, and his age, the higher-ups might not be keen to keep him on as team leader. He did want to be team leader again, but not like this. Glancing down at Ziva, who was staring at the backyard lost in thought, he smiled remembering Gibbs' Mexican retirement and long evenings spent with Ziva. Before things got complicated.

Not wanting to waste more time regretting decisions made years ago, he kissed her temple and focused on what he had in the present Her lips curved upwards and she met his eyes.

"When we buy a house with a backyard, you can mow the lawn shirtless, relive your youth."

Her eyes danced with mischief, but it was her use of the word _when_ , not _if_ , that made his heart beat a little faster. He leaned down and murmured, "If you think I'm spending my Sunday mornings mowing the lawn, instead of holed up in bed with you as long as possible, you don't know me at all."

She shrugged, and casually said, "Either way, you will be shirtless."

He chuckled, and briefly grazed her lips with his, lost in their little fantasy.

Her brows furrowed, and she glanced at the backyard again. "We could get a goat."

He guffawed. "I'll buy you a cow if that means we're moving in together."

She met his eyes, surprise visible in her own. They hadn't really talked about taking that step. They hadn't even told the team they were a couple, although they probably had their suspicions..

"Oh, um," McGee stammered from behind them.

Ziva was still firmly molded to his arm, holding his hand, his face inches from hers. He smiled at her mischievously, intent on making McGee uncomfortable for a moment longer. They broke apart, barely, and turned to their co-worker standing in the doorway.

Ziva always took pity on him first. "Did you get him settled in?"

McGee snapped out of his discomfort. "Yeah, Abby's with him." He nodded towards the lawn. "That was a great idea, Tony, I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

"Yeah, he mentioned something about needing to mow the lawn." The gravity of the situation weighed him down once more. "Guess he'll need help with that too for a while."

McGee nodded solemnly, then stood up straighter and suggested, "We could get him one of those robotic lawn mowers."

Tony gasped and looked at Ziva. "I will trade you the goat for a robot."

McGee squinted at them harshly, then walked back inside, muttering, "Why can't you two act like a normal couple."


	27. Power Outage

Today's prompt: power outage

Tiva, fluff. They get stuck in an elevator. Again. I know, I'm soooo original.

Thank you all for still reading! Three more to go.

* * *

The lights went out as the elevator came to a stop. A moment later the emergency light flashed on. Closing his eyes he heaved a sigh—not again—then looked at Ziva standing next to him.

She checked her phone and shook her head. He removed his jacket and loosened his tie while checking his own phone—nothing. He jabbed at the emergency buttons fruitlessly. They were going to be there for a while.

"Could be a power outage from the heat wave," she said.

He leaned his back against the wall, then slid down to the floor. "Didn't you get stuck in an elevator with McGee last time that happened?"

She looked down at him with a frown, then sat down next to him.

He undid the top buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. "Which one of us is worst to get trapped with?"

She snickered. "I am not answering that."

"Come on," he whined, "we're gonna be stuck here for hours, entertain me."

Her brows raised and she fixed him with a stare that made his mouth dry. When she glanced away with a look of concentration, he relaxed his head against the wall knowing she would play along.

"Well," she said and tapped her index finger against her lips.

It was his turn to glance away. He undid another button, blaming the lack of AC for the beads of sweat forming on his brow, instead of his partner sitting less than a foot from him, already looking slightly disheveled.

"McGee stopped droning on about a video game after I threatened him." She mock-glared at him. "You always seem to double down when I threaten you."

He chortled. "That's because I know your threats are as empty as my stomach."

She tilted her head and smirked, sending a tingle down his spine. "You had a cookie during the interview five minutes ago."

A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, and he decided to do what she had just accused him of; double down. "I have a very fast metabolism."

Her gaze slid down his body. When she met his eyes, she patted his stomach and said, "Sure."

He huffed at her calling him out like that. _So he wasn't at peak fitness_ , he thought, then realized her hand was still burning through two layers of fabric. The desire to call _her_ out was surpassed by his desire to tuck the few wisps of hair that had escaped from her ponytail behind her ears, to kiss that smirk off of her lips.

His gaze drifted to her mouth, her lips parted and her tongue darted out to wet them and, my god, why was it so hot in this small metal box. He bit his lip, and her hand retracted, leaving a truly empty feeling in his stomach.

She anchored her attention on the elevator door, and he knew he had to diffuse the situation or it would be an awkward couple of hours.

"I'm beginning to see a pattern here," he said, puzzling over their tendency to get stuck in confined spaces.

She rolled her eyes at him and crossed her arms, and he realized her thoughts were still firmly elsewhere. He gave her a fixed stare, wiped his brow with the back of his hand, and removed his dress shirt, relishing the way her gaze darted everywhere but at him.

They had played this game before and it had never fazed her like this. He frowned and wiped the back of his neck with the shirt, then dropped it on the limited free floor space.

He looked around, this really was a tiny elevator, and the smallest space they had gotten stuck in so far. "How many times have we been locked up in a confined space?"

Her posture relaxed and brow lowered, and his mouth twitched in relief; antsy Ziva in a small box was no fun.

"The elevator at work, the shipping container, oh, and the time Gibbs destroyed that computer."

He frowned. "You're gonna have to be more specific on that last one."

Her eyes lit up, and she grabbed for his discarded shirt. "At that power storage facility, with the sliding walls." She fumbled with the shirt, found a dry part, and wiped her face, neck, and chest with it.

He forced himself to sit still and feign disinterest. "It's always your fault we get stuck," he said, holding a grin in check.

She turned to him, mouth agape, brows drawn, then scrunched her face when she saw his sly smile, and slapped the shirt at him.

They argued back and forth for half an hour, the temperature in the elevator steadily rising. He ran out of steam, the heat finally getting the better of him, and decided to continue the discussion some other time. Maybe during a stake out or something.

He glanced her way and couldn't help but smile; he'd never seen her this hot and bothered before, fanning herself with his shirt. Despite the heat he wanted nothing more than to close what little distance was between them and lick every drop of sweat from her heated skin.

He blinked slowly and plucked at the undershirt sticking to his own skin. Maybe I'm dehydrated, he thought, feeling light-headed.

"I'm so hot," she complained beside him.

His head lolled in her direction, his gaze drifted up and down her body. "Smoking hot," he said with a lopsided grin.

She dropped the shirt in her lap, and met his gaze slowly. Her gaze clouded momentarily, then dropped to his mouth.

He licked his lips, puzzled over how they always kept going around in circles. It made him feel dizzy, nauseated…they had to stop.

Dropping his hand to the floor, he let it rest against her thigh. She could pretend it was harmless, nothing more than a lack of space to rest a tired limb. Or she could stop pretending. He hoped for the latter.

She dragged her confused gaze from his hand up to his face.

He smiled softly. "You're astonishingly beautiful, Ziva."

"Are you flirting with me now?"

He looked around pointedly, feeling his stomach drop, but smiling regardless "Well, you can't exactly run away."

She tilted her head and searched his eyes. "You think I would run?"

"One of us always does," he said without blame.

Glancing away briefly, a smile spread on her lips, and every fibre of his being wanted to feel that mouth on his.

"I have noticed a pattern, too," she said with a honeyed voice. "Every time we get locked up together, we end up closer than before."

A jolt ran through his body, kick-starting his brain. With an unrelenting gaze, he asked, "How much closer do you think we can get?"

Her eyes searched his. "Depends on how serious you are."

He smiled widely, and ran his hand over her thigh. "Serious as a heart attack."

She licked her lips, her eyes impossibly dark as she straddled him, face inches from his. "Is this close enough?"

"Not even close," he murmured, before crushing his mouth to hers and pulling her tightly to him, intent on never letting go.


	28. Smooth Sailing

Today's prompt: Holding their partner's unconscious/dead body

Angst (obviously with a prompt like that), Tony and Ziva team up with the Coast Guard to arrest a drug dealing lieutenant, Borin talks some sense into Tony.

* * *

The ballistic vests they wore felt too hot in the midday sun, even with the ocean wind whipping all around them. There had been no time to take something for his motion sickness after Borin got word about the whereabouts of their drug dealing lieutenant. To distract himself from the faint nausea settling in his stomach, he glanced at Ziva; relaxed smile on her face as her ponytail occasionally whipped her in the face.

Borin walked up next to them, securing her own vest. "You guys ready?"

Ziva nodded, then said, "I can't remember the last time I was on the water."

"You know, my friend has a sailboat, if we wrap this up we can take it out, celebrate another successful collaboration," Borin suggested.

Ziva's face lit up like the sun, putting a smile on his own face. "I would love that."

When Borin got called away, Ziva turned to him. "I will bring extra Dramamine, in case you forget yours."

He smiled, and glanced at the lieutenant's yacht. An image of Ziva wearing nothing but a bikini, loose curls flowing in the sea breeze as she lounged on deck of a sailboat swam across his vision. Narrowing his eyes at the yacht he tried to get the runaway Sports Illustrated photo shoot he had conjured out of his mind.

She leaned in close. "If anyone asks I'll say it's for McGee."

He snickered, then startled as Borin's voice boomed through the megaphone, urging the lieutenant to turn off the engine.

His gut churned as they boarded the yacht, guns drawn, ready for anything. Or so he thought.

They had split up, hoping to find the lieutenant before he could destroy any evidence. The sound of a gunshot made his heart stop. He ran towards the stern, sliding to a stop on his knees next to Ziva's still body. His mind drew a complete blank as he took her in. He bent down to check for a pulse when a bullet ricocheted off the railing next to him.

Taking aim at the main deck above him, he shot a few rounds while grabbing Ziva's vest and dragging her to relative safety.

His mind raced as he cradled her in his lap, gun aimed at the only entryway. He should get out there, face the shooter, but he didn't want to leave Ziva unconscious and defenseless.

The blood in his veins turned cold. What if…

He clenched his jaw and forced himself to glance down at her for a second. Placing his fingers on the tender skin of her neck, he stared at the entryway unseeingly. He let out a shaky breath when her heartbeat pulsed against the pads of his fingers, strong as always.

He bent down and kissed her forehead impulsively.

Stumbling on the main deck above drew his attention. His heart pounded as he urged Ziva to wake up.

Borin yelling they had the lieutenant only solved one of his dilemmas, as Ziva lay limp in his arms. He holstered his weapon and patted her cheek. "Come on, Ziva, wake up."

He grit his teeth at her unresponsiveness, his left hand caressed her arm mindlessly, as he wondered how things had gone so wrong in such a short time span. Mere minutes ago he was imagining her, vibrant and sexy, enjoying a day off, now she was motionless and pale.

He searched for injuries but found nothing. He was probing her back with his right hand when Borin found them. She gasped, and he remembered they had become close friends.

"She's breathing," he reassured her with a strained voice.

She called for medical assistance, just as his fingers found a bullet lodged in the back of her vest. He let out another breath and began undoing the vest, trying not to jostle her too much.

Borin came to his aid and took it from him. "Damn, two inches higher and…"

He didn't want to hear it, and was relieved she didn't want to say it. "Come on, ninja," he said softly and caressed her cheek. The edge of a faint red mark near her hairline drew his attention, and he touched it carefully.

"She's gonna have one hell of a headache," Borin said with false bravado.

"I hope so," he said quietly, trying not to think of how serious brain injuries could be.

He gripped her shoulder and twisted her trapezius muscle, but got no reaction to the painful stimuli. Swallowing down nausea unrelated to the bobbing motion of the boat, his voice broke when he said her name.

Cupping her face with his right hand, his thumb caressing her cheek, her eyelids finally began to flutter. Her right hand flailed at him, he held it against his chest, and said, "I've got you, you're safe."

She opened her eyes to slits briefly, before closing them with a pinched expression that broke his heart.

Her voice was small, hoarse. "Tony?"

"I'm right here, Ziva." He focused on her face, her breathing, and tried his best to sound calm and strong for her.

She licked her lips, tilted her head in his direction, eyes firmly shut. "I'm-"

"Fine?" he cut her off, thinly veiled anger in his voice. Regret set in immediately, and he clenched his jaw.

She opened her eyes to slits to look at him, vaguely patted the back of her hand against his cheek. "Nauseated." She dropped her hand again. "Could use your Dramamine."

Borin stared at him with a glint in her eye. "What do you need Dramamine for, DiNozzo?"

Ziva opened her eyes wide, immediately screwing them up in pain. She waved a hand in Borin's general direction and mumbled, "Secret."

Borin chuckled. "Okay, David."

Borin's teammates arrived with a stretcher, and worked quietly and carefully to secure Ziva on it. Her lack of protest worried him, but she squeezed his hand and managed a small smile, putting him a little more at ease.

As he kept a close eye on his partner being transported from one bobbing boat to the next, Borin stepped a little closer.

"So, um, what else have you two been keeping secret?"

He frowned and looked at her. She raised her eyebrows in reply, but he was in no mood to play charades and focused his attention on Ziva again, now safely on board of the Coast Guard's boat.

"Really," Borin said in disbelief. "Still nothing?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, eager to get to his partner on the other boat.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, then nodded in Ziva's direction. "Life is short DiNozzo, I thought you two would have figured that out by now."

He stared at her retreating back for a second, then caught up quickly and sat down next to Ziva as the boat sped to shore where an ambulance was waiting for her.

She looked slightly better than five minutes ago. Only a doctor assuring him there was no permanent damage would calm his rattled nerves, though. He took hold of her hand, brushed her hair with his other.

"We still going sailing?" Her eyes seemed a little brighter, and she squeezed his hand.

He smiled, grateful for any small improvement, and kissed her hand, his lips lingering on her warm, salty skin.

"It'll be smooth sailing from here on out, Ziva," he promised, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.


	29. Smooth Sailing II

Today's prompt: Sailing

Tiva, lazy-ass follow-up to yesterday's fic. I wasn't going to write follow-ups, but I was going to write 30 consecutive days and that didn't happen either, so, if you're going to fail, you may as well fail on all fronts ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

* * *

It should have looked like the cover of Sports Illustrated, really; Ziva and Borin clad in bikinis, hair flowing freely in the wind, toned muscles flexing with every move. Yet every time his gaze wandered to Ziva's back, fully intent on getting an eye full of her ass, the nasty bruise between her shoulder blades drew his attention like a bullseye. He clenched his jaw, at the ugly reminder.

Ziva tried to look over her shoulder to meet his eyes, but grimaced and turned her whole body instead. He flexed his fingers, images of him pounding the guy who shot her to a pulp flashed before his eyes. It would never happen, she wouldn't let him, but that didn't mean he couldn't fantasize about it every time he was reminded of how close he had gotten to losing her.

"DiNozzo, bring me a beer," Borin shouted.

He stared at Ziva a moment longer, her quizzical look calming his anger. Grabbing a beer from the cooler he walked to the bow of the boat and handed Borin the drink. "I'm not your personal errand boy, you know," he said lightly.

Borin smirked. "If you were you'd have a body like Palmer's." She tipped the beer bottle in Palmer's direction, then looked at Ziva with raised eyebrows. "Who knew, right?"

He rolled his eyes as Ziva snickered, then rubbed at the onset of stiffness in his neck.

"Is the Dramamine not working?" Ziva said quietly and searched his face. "You look a bit queasy."

He forced a smile, the last thing he wanted was to cause her any worry. "No it's working fine, and thanks for reminding me this morning to take it."

Borin made a sound of approval and beamed at them. Tony had a sinking feeling in his stomach that no amount of motion sickness medicine could cure. Ziva merely frowned at her.

One look at his face told Borin everything she needed to know. "Seriously, nothing still?" She pinched her lips together and shook her head.

Ziva frowned and looked between her two friends. "What?"

"You were lucky you were wearing your back plate when you got shot." She glanced at Tony meaningfully.

"It is only common sense to wear both plates, regardless of how warm it is," Ziva replied.

"Hmm, could've sworn common sense was in short supply at NCIS." She gave both of them a pointed look, then walked off.

"I thought this trip was supposed to be a celebration of cooperation, you're not sounding very cooperative, agent Borin," Tony jeered.

She flipped him off and he chortled, turning his attention back to Ziva.

Running her hands through her hair in an effort to keep it out of her face, she gave up and turned against the wind, avoiding eye contact. She opened her mouth to say something but stopped short.

His gaze drifted to the bruise on her back, Borin's words ringing in his ears. He fleetingly touched the small of her back, needing physical evidence that she was still with him. The relief he had felt when her heartbeat had pulsed against his fingertips two days ago rushed back like a tidal wave.

He rubbed his forehead and stared at the horizon, trying to gather his thoughts.

"What was that about?" Ziva asked glancing at Borin.

He looked at his feet and rubbed his neck. The hospital had seemed like the wrong place to broach the subject. And then when he took her home and declared he was crashing on her couch because he was too tired to drive home—no, not to keep an eye on you, Ziva, psh—she was too high on painkillers to have remembered anything he would have said.

Scanning her profile to gauge her mood he was none the wiser. She refused to look at him.

"How do you feel?" He probed.

"I'm fine." She closed her eyes briefly and deflated, offering him a small smile.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, careful to keep his distance from the purple and blue marring her skin.

She caught him staring at the bruise, and admitted quietly, "I did get lucky."

He inhaled deeply before clenching his jaw. Not trusting his voice, he met her eyes and nodded stiffly. She bit her lip and looked away. He dropped a kiss on her shoulder without thinking, drawing her attention again.

She looked at him with prying eyes, making his smile waver. He glanced at their teammates, well out of hearing distance, oblivious to the two of them standing a little too close, gazing at each other a little too intently—not that any of them would have batted an eye at that anymore. Borin on the other hand was staring him down from across the deck.

Locking eyes with Ziva, he resisted the urge to kiss her shoulder again, opting to run his thumb over the spot he had just kissed. "You scared the living daylights out of me."

She gave him a tight smile, then asked, "What happened between you and Borin?"

He let out a chuckle, Ziva could be like a hound dog on a hot trail, impossible to distract. "She was right about the lack of common sense."

She huffed, standing up a little straighter. " _We_ broke the case."

He smiled softly, and slid his hand from her shoulder, down her arm, to hold her hand. "She wasn't talking about the case, Ziva."

Ziva's lips parted slightly, her eyes sparkled with hopefulness, encouraging him to say what he had been longing to say for so long.

"Life is short, and we've wasted so much of it already." Her fingers played with his, making his stomach flutter. "I kept waiting for the right time." He frowned, remembering they were on a boat full of co-workers. "This clearly isn't it," he said with a chuckle.

She entwined her fingers with his, and looked up at him with a soft expression. "Perhaps any time, that is not too late, is the right time."

* * *

 **A/N** : I don't remember seeing the episodes with Borin more than once, and that was years ago, so apologies if she's out of character.


	30. Hot as Hell

Finally, day 30, only, checks calendar, 19 days too late.

Today's prompt(s): Our AC is out and it's the middle of the summer AU + (vaguely) It's 2 am but you're craving cake and we're both up anyway so let's bake in our underwear AU

Established Tiva, fluff

* * *

His bare leg brushed against hers, and whereas a week ago it would've set off an almost Pavlovian reaction of warmth pooling in her belly, right now she wanted to bury her face in her pillow and scream.

"Are you awake?"

She sighed heavily, the blare of a car horn drifting in through the open bedroom window. "Yes, Tony, it's too hot to sleep." She faced him, hoping the semi-darkness didn't detract too much from the fiery glare she aimed at him. "As it was the other three times you asked."

He had the courtesy to look away sheepishly. "When are they fixing the AC, again?"

Another heavy sigh. "Day after tomorrow, I told you that an hour ago." She resumed staring at the cracks in the ceiling. "Perhaps you should write that down."

Ignoring her answer, and irritation, he said, "I bet this is a preview of what hell will be like."

She squinted at him, trying to make out his expression in the moonlight. "Excuse me, I am not going to hell."

He chuckled and looked at her, then rested his too warm hand on her bare thigh, giving it a squeeze. "We're both going to hell for that thing we did two nights ago."

She blushed, and the room got a few degrees warmer remembering that particular night. She turned on her side to face him, and smirked. "Worth it, yes?"

"Oh, yeah!" he said, eyes dancing with mischief and desire. "I would volunteer to dog sit Cerberus if we did that again."

Her gaze raked over his naked body, eager to achieve that level of reckless abandon anew. If only it wasn't so hot, they could start practicing right now. "That was the last night the AC worked," she said wistfully.

He sighed, kissed the inside of her wrist, then let his fingers dance all over her arm lightly. The light touches distracted her from how insufferable his midnight babbling had been the past few days.

He ran a finger from her wrist to the crook of her elbow, then halted and looked at her. "Why is the heat bothering you so much, always thought you were used to it?"

"Israel isn't this humid." She heaved another sigh, his fingers resumed drawing mindless patterns on her arm, drawing out any tension and making her eyes slip shut.

His stomach growled, ruining the peaceful mood. "I'm hungry…for cake."

"I ate the last piece before bed," she mumbled, refusing to open her eyes, wanting to keep the illusion alive that she might actually get some sleep tonight.

He sat up suddenly, and she peeled open one eye, dreading whatever he was up to now.

He looked down at her gleefully. "Then we should bake another one right now, not like we're getting any sleep, anyways."

She blinked slowly, then calmly told him, "It's over a hundred degrees in here, if you think I'm turning on an oven for almost an hour, I will expedite your trip to hell myself."

* * *

 **A/N** : Thank you, every single one of you, for reading and letting me know you enjoyed these stories.

This was a lot tougher than the 30 days of winter challenge, but I've learned a number of things;

\- Somehow deciding to choose my own prompts was both more difficult and less challenging creatively.

\- My health has deteriorated more than I realized the past two years. Trying to work within my limits is extremely challenging for me, so I should pat myself on the back for actually taking a break from writing a couple of times, prioritizing rest over finishing the challenge in 30 days...still annoyed I didn't finish in time, though.

\- Sometimes you just have to start writing, even if you don't have the faintest idea where you're going with it. You may have to scrap/rewrite the first couple of lines or paragraphs, but so far that tactic has worked better for me than mulling things over in my head, hoping something will come.

\- Your mood most definitely affects your writing (which should've been a given, but I've never experienced it quite so drastically as when writing chapter 19 on two separate days).

Anyhoo, this may be the end of another challenge, but I have loads more ideas for new stories, a bunch of WIPs I want to finish, and I've received some interesting prompts during the challenge that I look forward to exploring.


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